(no subject)
Winter is like a religion here; the cold sticks to your skin, eats at the marrow in your bones, rests heavily on your eyelashes. Where I used to live, cold was a variable, a minor discomfort, something that sneezed and coughed its way through the skies and was cured by the Sun. Warmth was always brewing, even under those momentary patches of ice. It was default. Here, warmth has to be earned.