When I returned to Calgary the snow was ankle deep and being blown along by frigid arctic winds. I immediately regretted my decision to come home.
Having completed numerous circuits of the station the very first businesses began opening. I was as a Canadian incredibly thankful that they served coffee and donuts, until of course I attempted to consume them.
Before I left home it had been snowing for a month and warmth was but a distant memory, a fable told to the young in a manner in many ways similar to the way house Stark tends to reassure their children that winter is both coming and cannot last forever.
When the plane left the ground it became apparent that the clouds above us were in fact not merely clouds but some kind of ether with the consistency of bad soup, the windows streamed with a sudden accumulation of precipitation and the engines whined loudly as our small craft slowly rose through the brick like mass of fog alight with iridescent blues and purples.