Connecting the houses that line Gilmour and Lewis streets is Salisbury Place. This road is home to just four houses, and is no longer than five cars parked in a row.
The street is named after the Marquis of Salisbury, a British prime minister in the late 1800s. During his time in office, the country pursued a policy of “splendid isolation” from the rest of the world.
It seems as if that “splendid isolation” has now taken a hold of the street named in his honour. With just the faint murmur of traffic travelling along Elgin Street, Salisbury Place is an escape from the busy city.
On this day, the first winter storm has left the road full of heaping snow, barely touched except for a few tire tracks. The only streetlight remains unlit, and the only car – a gold Pontiac Trans Am – sits idle as it slowly becomes immersed in flurries.
There is a quiet hum of electricity moving through the wires that zigzag above the road and a choir of birds chirping in the distance.
On one side of the street, the fresh snow that lies on the pathways up to the doors has not yet met its fate with a shovel. The only light is the glow of red Christmas tree lights coming through the green-shuttered windows of one home.
As you leave this quaint street, returning to the reality of the bustling city, a man drives off in the gold Trans Am. The streetlight begins to flicker, preparing for the night’s darkness.