The day when I saw the first flowers. I’d been paying attention to the green poking from the ground for several days now. Not to forget that on Saturday, less than a week ago, the ground was covered with snow. I thought that the crocuses in a beautiful front yard I pass by on the way of picking my kids up from school would be the first flowers I see. Instead, the first flowers caught me off guard when I was walking fast through the Milton-Park neighbourhood. Milton-Park, of all places! It’s like you sang, dear Leonard, “and she teaches you where to look between the garbage and the flowers.”

It was also the day when I went to the Roulant and didn’t get elected to their board, but got to speak to so many wonderful people that I’d do it all over again, even knowing the result.

I left the Roulant and walked along Saint-Denis street, because the metro broke down and made me miss my bus and all of a sudden I had all this time to kill. So I walked down the street and looked at the lights and remember how nice this city can be on the eve of a long weekend and in the very beginning of spring, when everything feels tender and new and possible, although so many things aren’t. I felt tender and new and a little sad, because it still sucks not to win. And yet, I felt good. Good about where I’m at and where I’m heading and thinking, what matters is making this journey with a good heart.