Dear Journal, There’s something magical about the first snow. The moment I stepped outside this week, I could feel the shift—tiny flakes dancing on the wind, transforming the city into a glowing snow globe. The streets I walk every day suddenly feel new, like I’m seeing them for the first time… only softer, quieter, more full of wonder. I bundled up in my coziest scarf and wandered down what I like to call Winter Avenue, past frozen fountains and shop windows trimmed with twinkle lights. A little bird, just as puffed up and rosy-cheeked as I was, sat on a snow-covered bench. It made me smile. One of my favourite things about winter has always been ice skating. There’s something about it that feels timeless. I used to go every year with my dads when I was little. We’d bundle up in our biggest coats, sip hot chocolate from thermoses that were always too hot to drink right away, and skate until our cheeks were pink and our toes were frozen. They’d race me across the rink—well, wobble more than race—and we’d always end the night with a snowball fight, laughing until our sides hurt. So today, as I laced up my skates and stepped onto the rink, I could feel a bit of that childhood joy rushing back. The cold kissed my cheeks, the city lights twinkled around me, and for a few blissful laps, I was weightless—gliding, spinning, remembering. The world felt quiet, and for the first time in a while, I let myself just be. Winter isn’t just a season—it’s a feeling. And I’m here for every flurry. Warm thoughts (even if my fingers are frozen), Alex
