One of my favorite passages in Canadian Literature:

"I placed the book face down and looked out the window. The yard glared. On the west coast, in Vancouver, we weren't accustomed to snow. Like a long spell of fair weather in summer, it was unusual, worthy of attention and respect, an omen. I watched a tabby cat follow its breath across the white crust. Every few feet, the cat sank, then kept perfectly still and waited for fate. I couldn't tell if it was scared stiff or smart."

From "Boxing Day" by Linda Svendsen.

What makes the passage so powerful is the sharp yet fluid language, and the levels the moment contains. Adele, the narrator, watches as the cat "wait[s] for fate" but without fully realizing it, watches herself. Pure poetry.


Svendsen, Linda. "Boxing Day". Marine Life. Toronto: HarperPerennial, 1993. 48.