I stumbled down the grey concrete steps past the barbecue and around the corner; walking toward the emerald grass, one hand holding an ice cream cone and the other clutching my camera. It was a hot spring day, unusually common this time of year in Toronto. It seemed that the weather was pushed a month forward: March showers brought April flowers.
The frosty treat was melting down the side of the cone, gradually approaching my fingers. Soon, the ice cream covered most of the cone in streaks of peachy-goodness. As the ice cream melted it revealed chunks of frozen peach and nuggets of cinnamon crumble.