What does winter sound like at Gibraltar Point Centre for the Arts?

By Dana Snow

As you make your way from the rumble of the Ongiara, twigs and snow crinkle under heavy soled boots. The entry doors croak to welcome you while a cardinal whistles hello. In the kitchen, the moka pot burbles with a promise of warmth. Above the cymbal crash of misplaced pan lids, an artist records his voice in falsetto. Residents in house shoes shuffle patiently. Slowly, a janitor’s broom follows them in a whoosh; a drawn out curling match. In the back of every studio, you can hear the shore. Long washes followed by the clinks of ice. A stippled water Post Content colour in blues and whites.