Breakfast is beautiful

The cold has descended down upon the residents of Toronto and the first snowfall has left the ground frosted over and specked with white. With the sunlight streaming through my blinds this morning, the only sign of the incumbent winter was marked by the nearly bare branches of the maple and red oak that swayed gently in the nippy breeze. 

The heat is on inside my house and the warmth of the frying pan is as comforting as the aromas of fried red onion and garlic. The smokiness of roasted red peppers and the sweet balance of sun-dried tomatoes meld into the salty burst of sizzling sausage, cleanly finished by the subtly bitterness of fresh chopped spinach. Atop a fluffy bed of eggs with a few dashes of red chilies, breakfast is served.

Good morning Toronto, good morning winter, good morning world.