I’ve never been one for afternoons, but when the night turns to day, or the day to night, you’ll find me outside, basking in the beautiful side light from the sun.
Winter in St. John’s is a fickle monster. One day you’ll be digging out after a heavy snowfall, and the next day the sky turns the most beautiful shades of pink and purple in front of your eyes. Like God, or nature, or whatever you call it. It sits on your shoulders, like a child, like an old friend; like a parent; like a lover.