On Monday morning as I walked to Carleton the sky filled with thick snow that shifted the landscape from colour (albeit dull colour) to black-and-white. Everything was blurred and bleached like an old tv set with static. But I also felt a bit mournful because I suspected it was the last snowfall of the season and so there was something sad in this last hurrah of winter. Bittersweet though. I love the turning of the season, the cusp of the things, the way that a last snowfall can be a favourite thing. (And then, because this is Ottawa, it did snow again on Wednesday--but that time it was only flurries and nothing like Monday's dramatic, sudden, snow-filled sky.)
The only "last" thing in the favourite-things list is Louise Bourgeois' "Cell (The Last Climb)" which I've mentioned already. But it is so lovely and evocative that it never hurts to mention it again.
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