I was out early this morning, sketching a snowy scene in Pointe Claire. I suspect that winter is not entirely over, but as it warms up the snow gradually gets dirtier and the sludge heaps that are left are not very pretty to paint. In the morning I share the street with the dog walkers who look at me suspiciously, parked in my car with a sketchbook resting on the steering wheel. What could I be recording at that hour of the morning, they wonder. Little do they know that it is them.