…It's the kind of weather that takes you back to the coldest days of childhood memory (if your American childhood was spent anywhere north of, say, Indianapolis). I remember some walks to the bus stop in eighth and ninth grade — 1984 and 1985 — in central Michigan when it was about –20°F and the snow crunched like broken Styrofoam beneath your feet. It was the strangest sound, and I guess it's what water does when it's moved somewhere beyond ice.
There isn't enough snow here to test that memory very effectively tonight, but the wind is a pretty sharp refresher. The trees creak and clatter like taut steel cabling. We also have that full moon, and it has the silvery menace of a disc of dry ice, held in a clenched fist on a dare.
I think I'll stand on my back porch for a few moments tonight, just to commit this rare freeze to memory once more. When summer's heat roars back, the novelty of it will be something to relish.
Labels: Pop Culture