Unpublished Newswire

I moved to Montreal to live in 1975. An old-stock francophone from Ottawa, I felt at home the moment I arrived. Despite being a stranger to the city—I spent hours walking up and down Saint Laurent Boulevard, the city’s dividing line between east and west, English and French, rich and poor—I knew this was where I belonged. I didn’t recognize the names of the streets or the exotic smells, but there was an undeniable connection with the people I passed, a sense of belonging that was both comforting and exhilarating. Today, as immigrant-wary nationalism slowly poisons Quebec politics, I...

Winter is here once more. (What were we expecting?) Winter has crept up on us. The leaves came down on schedule when we weren’t watching (weren’t watching the leaves, that is)— we were watching the news instead of the leaves, and one day we woke to bare trees and frozen puddles, wondering how we missed the colours. As for summer—was there a summer? Why don’t we remember? Look outside: it’s a day without brine, sky bland as the white of a hard-boiled egg, no flakes in the air today, no frost ferns on the window, gaiety in abeyance only another winter day, only the cold, and the early dark...