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40 Below Project brings winter to the theatre


Staff writers
December 14, 2012 — Edmontonians love their winters... well at least some do and they're showing that passion in theatre.


The crowd was pleased with the stories on display
The crowd was pleased with the stories on display

A group of people have been sharing their stories about the frigid season at a local theatre cafe in the hopes of getting published in a new winter book. 

Jason Norman is editor of the "40 Below Project," a collection of winter stories, and has been looking for inspired narratives. 

"If I could collect an anthology and put it together like a package think it would be a cool thing for the city," said Norman. "It's something we can't escape any ways [winter] so it would be good to have good memories of winter." 

The novel is supposed to hit shelves around this time next year.

Here is a sneak peak at some of the poems featured in the project:

Evening by Danielle Metcalfe-Chenail 
I slipped into the ice fog 
Coating myself
With denser air
My hand burning from the doorknob

The lights kept me lonely
As I walked through snow
Punishing my lungs
With ice-tipped air
The ravens just stared
Straddling streetlights
Their backs heavy with frost.

I Hear Winter by Rayane Doucet
There is a sound winter carries on the wind.
And it is deafening in the silence
of this frozen season.

There is a sound to frost as it brushes my fingers.
There is a sound to soil as it burrows
in and succumbs to the snow that falls from above.
There is a sound to sun as it touches your skin.
Crisp, alert; Ready for re-birth.

I hear winter hunch her shoulders
and curl into night.
I listen to trees as they groan
under the weight of the snow,
and sigh into the depth of winter.
I can hear Willows talk while
turning from young green teenager
to Grandfather in his rocking chair.
Leafless branches shaking gnarled fingers into the cold.

I hear human sounds.
Gortex jackets rubbing on gortex ski pants.
Snowball battle cries.
Toboggan collisions.
Crunching boots on frigid ground.
Winter hearts beating loudly;
Taking cues from the converted Willows,
and two stepping with Old Man Winter.
I hear the ski hill roaring out his glory
in tune with snowboarders on his back.
I hear children building snow forts; mini architects directing sky scrappers.
I hear parent`s fingers squeaking on hot chocolate cups. 

There is a sound as icicles form around the fog of our breath
There is a sound to air, tightening our skin
There is a sound to winter as it inhales.

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