“Here we go!” I murmured before opening the second door to the outside.
It was a day after a blizzard. The sky is clear and the sun is peaking unusually early. But the rage of recent weather is undeniably visible: there are trash everywhere, the knee-level snow covered the ground and the temperature dropped to negative 20 degree Celsius, plus the wind chill.
I was wearing my best winter jacket and boots; I had my warmest toque, gloves and socks on; I was also wearing my thickest jeans and knitted long sleeves. Everything is perfect for this kind of weather.
But I can still feel the coldness in my face, and in a few more minutes, my eyes will dry out, coldness will seep into my legs and in my hands, then into my whole body. The pile of snow makes it impossible to hurry, where a minute, in this kind of weather, feels like an hour.
“I hate this!” I silently exclaimed while trudging through the snow going to the bus stop.
I opened the waiting shed, went inside and quickly close it before putting my hands into my pocket to delay the seeping of coldness. And now the hardest part – waiting for the unpredictable bus to come.
Winter is bad, really bad – my mind concluded.
“It was a nice day today!” a middle-age homeless man excitedly told the lady nearest to him while trying to wrap another layer of blanket to keep himself warm. There was a smile on his face – and possibly, hope.