It is a winter of tracks in the snow. Bold ring -necked pheasant tracks go across the back yard as a cocky challenge to Finn. They leave chicken feet scrawl gently punctuated by a wispy tail drag. Boxy little rodent tracks scurry back and forth, like a confused railway line. Rabbit tracks hop to and fro. They always look backwards or like some deranged version of a miniature stilt-walker had gone by. I am thankful to the snow for allowing me to see these things that I would otherwise be blind to.
Breakfast this morning was a Montreal bagel. If you haven’t had one, or one from New York, then it is possible that your understanding of bagel is not complete. a bagel should be dense and chewy, and slightly sweet. It shouldn’t be those thick puffy bready things served at that Canadian coffee and doughnut shop. Those things are to bagels what McCain’s is to cake. There is much to be thankful for when it comes to Montreal, which remains, after all these years, my favourite city on this big ol’ planet.
By the way, I am thankful for the original spelling of doughnut. Literally, a nut of dough. When was the last time anyone made bread with ‘do’ ans opposed to ‘dough?’ The ‘gh’ in the word implies an airy lightness to the actual item.