I think last night may have been the coldest yet, way below zero and a vicious little wind. I woke to frozen pipes again along with a crushing migraine. Not a good combination. I took the night off from work to deal with all of it and keep the fire burning hot. The water is finally working again and the migraine has had it's wicked way. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.
I go in the morning to see the orthopedist about my failing joints.
My mind is overfull of thoughts and ideas that I want to write, but I
struggle to find the energy to bring them into cohesion. They remain
scattered fragments like ice crystals blowing in the wind, whole novels
worth if I could ever pin them down. In brief moments of calm they form
shimmering mirages, only to shatter with the faintest breeze and the latest crises.
This cold is wearing. Everything is harder and takes longer, it is exhausting. I have been trying not to whine about it too
much, but I can't wait for this weekend when the weather forecasters
claim it will be 30 degrees. It will feel like the tropics.
has been a lot of sunlight the last few days, but it too is harsh. A
cold, unforgiving brilliance that blinds the eye and gives no warmth.
Its faint promise is found only in its increasing length.
I would like to say that Spring will be here soon, but February is
usually our worst month. Considering what this winter has been like so
far, that is a daunting thought.
The light does grow longer though. I will try to hold to that.