The Summer Man, as we knew him shivered under his cardboard shelter as the snow fell along with the temperature.
It was clear he disliked the winter, he told us often enough. He refused to move into warmer places vowing to sit it out thankful the Salvation Army soup van came round every day to fill his thermos.
His concession to the winter was his thermos. He’d had the same one for as long as we knew him. Said he found it one day lying in the gutter and discovered it was in working condition.
Anyway, it saved him on the cold nights. He’d be huddled inside his box, a blanket up around his ears and sipping on the thermos to get him through the night.
I don’t know how he survived as some nights everything froze and how he didn’t was beyond me.
Yesterday the snow fall was heavy, and his shelter was threatened with being buried, but he’d emerge every so often and push the snow back leaving his doorway clear and as he often put it, you never knew who might call, and it would be a shame if the front door wasn’t accessible.
So he survived somehow, each spring you’d see him down by the river washing his under garments, laying them in the sun to dry telling everyone who came too close how good the spring was.
The Summer Man kept us entertained in many ways. Despite his pigheadedness, he was one of us we continued to look out for him.