In the earlier hours this morning, it was one degree. With winds of about ten mph, it was breathtaking. I once worked in a -40 work environment. If you’re lucky enough to have trees with leaves still on them, you know that the melody the wind creates sounds like falling rain or heavy snow when it’s this cold. Unlike most post-midnight Saturday nights and Sunday mornings, traffic was non-existent. Everyone was huddled inside somewhere, undoubtedly with blankets piled and tucked. I walked to the road and watched and listened as the dead leaves above me rustled. It was a beautiful, abandoned world with just me in it to observe it. The crosswalk and street lights shone vividly in the air. Color in this cold takes on a new life. I stood there until the bottom of my legs began to ache from the cold. A cup of bitter coffee and another cup of hot cider waited for me back at the apartment. But still, I stood there, waiting for some unidentified moment to propel me back inside. Nothing happened. Sometimes that’s the most beautiful thing. 

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