"Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer."
Yup. So cold that words freeze.
Winters growing up were nothing like this. Duh.
This January is the worst I can remember. I have a physical sensitivity to cold anyway, (thank you hypothyroidism) and the ridiculously low temps coupled with no sunshine days really make my spirits sag.
Yesterday I bought a pair of new pajamas. They are soft and warm and bright pink and only 6 bucks at Sam's. I bought them on impulse hoping they might help me endure the rest of this bone-chilling, dark month.
There are days I never go out at all. Except to check the mail. It's fitting and so January-harsh-like that I had a root canal last week and a cold sore today. No flu/cold yet. Knock on wood. Really only thing getting me through is reading, mystery programs and whipping out the cardboard.
I am fighting hard to keep warm by 'inner fires'.
O winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love’s sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter’s own release.
--Helen Hunt Jackson*
*Yes, that HHJ. The one who wrote Romona, which coincidentally I first read in January of 7th grade. Ah, Alessandro!