As for me, I’m content enough. This kind of cold is the type that makes you feel particularly alive (as long as your nostrils don’t freeze shut—and there is a freezing nostril sensation that can be a little unsettling).
The sun is out and the air is crackling with electricity and sparkles of ice crystals. Bright tendrils of smoke curl upward from every chimney up and down the river valley. The river is obscured by steam rising from its unfrozen current, which grows narrower with each passing day.
But nighttime is the show stopper when the stars are “pinned on a shimmering curtain of light*.” Thank you, Bruce Cockburn for putting into words a beauty that is hard to describe.
Off to feed the woodstove.
*From “Northern Lights” on Bruce Cockburn’s album “Wondering Where the Lion’s Are.”