This winter has been strange in so many ways.
One of them is how slow the days have become, not in a bad way. I have time to feel the chilly wind against my skin, to enjoy the softness and warmth of wool mittens, to watch the shifting clouds. To sit quiet and peaceful, doing nothing except watch people around me instead of hurrying home to distract myself with entertainment.
Today I sat in the expensive Fazer Café, sipping a latte macchiato with beautiful foam art and discussing mental problems with a wise woman under the golden glow of trendy light bulbs.
Then I wandered, slowly, along cold and grey streets with a hulk of a man beside me. Each step felt balanced and peaceful, despite the troubled heart inside both of us, despite the wind slapping snow in our faces. Twilight fell as we meandered through an empty park and stopped to greet a pair of enthusiastic dogs.
We ended up outside a small church where a few quiet people already waited. Several more gathered as we stood there, all patiently waiting and chatting in low voices. This was the city's breadline. People with worn clothes and worn faces, unassuming and cautiously friendly. When the church opened its door, we were served hot soup with sandwiches, and food bags were distributed. I'm not poor enough for breadlines so I didn't take any food, except some soup which I paid for, but my friend eagerly accepted his share.
The contrast with the glamourous café was startling, but the atmosphere in the dark church was welcoming. We all sat there, huddling in our winter coats despite the warmth, eating tasty lentil soup and exchanging a few words with the strangers next to us. A new world to me, populated by brave people.
Another strange dimension to my strange winter.
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