Meth heads, church bells and snowflakes were the hallmarks of the walk to the library.

The young man in tattered and soiled attire, his dental work marking him decades older than his early twenties. Wanting five dollars. Named the actual amount. Clear and clarion although in no way threatening in his ask. But a defined amount. Uncommon approach in my experience.

We parted ways. 

Two  indigenous fellows crossed the street while I turned away from the young mendicant.  Immersed in their own conversation and affairs they seemed at best disinterested. From Victoria you heard the Methodist bells chiming through the park. The melody playing to empty benches.

The library was filled not full. Everyone focused it seemed. The screens holding everyone’s attention. The exception found; two Indigenous gentlemen sharing a table and a discussion. About what? I never discerned the topic in my short tour among the shelves.

Out I went. 

The snow began. Almost in a mist then with greater determination. Giving the otherwise grey horizon a sense of elegance that the streetscape lacked on its own.

November 2019