My ideal morning does not begin with the shrill sound of an alarm clock, but with silence. A dense, cottony silence, the kind that only the snow accumulated in rural Ontario can produce. Here, at this stage of my life where time is no longer an executioner but an ally, waking up is a voluntary act of synchronisation with the planet.

As soon as I open my eyes, my internal clock tells me that the show is about to begin. There is no rush, no offices waiting, just the majesty of winter. I get up with the calmness of someone who has learned not to rush, and proceed to my first sacred task: getting dressed. In Venezuela, sandals were enough; here, survival requires layers. I put on my thermal coat and, most importantly, my ‘Toque’. That's what we call a wool hat in these parts, an indispensable part of Canadian identity. Without the toque, no walk is possible.

I step out onto the porch and the cold air hits my face with the freshness of a balm. It is an instant cellular awakening. My ideal morning consists of this short pilgrimage through my snowy neighbourhood to ‘hunt’ for the aurora. As I walk, my boots crunch on the compact snow, a rhythmic sound that becomes my background music.

I watch as the sky changes from leaden grey to soft violet, and then to that timid orange of the winter sun. I stop in front of a pine tree laden with white. In other seasons, I look for petrichor, that smell of wet earth after rain that I love so much; but today, the scent is different, it smells of purity, frozen resin, clean wood... It is the smell of peace.

I greet an early-rising neighbour with a slight nod, respecting that Anglo-Saxon privacy, but with Latin warmth in my eyes. Back home, the ‘Hydro’ (electricity) keeps the atmosphere warm. I take off my layers like someone shedding armour and go to the kitchen.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room. I sit in my favourite armchair, cup in hand, and enjoy the best view of all: the half-open door to my son Matthew's room. Hearing his peaceful breathing, knowing that he is sleeping safely and warmly while outside the world is frozen, completes my picture of happiness.

I don't need luxuries or noise. My ideal morning is this simple triumph: being alive, being lucid, having a piano waiting for my fingers and knowing that, in this multicultural corner of the world, I have found my home. The freedom to be the master of my own time is the true treasure I have accumulated after so many years of travelling.

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