The Cold.

The whistle of the kettle. The hum of my AeroGarden. Footsteps in the apartment above and the scurrying of their small dog for a treat or some indoor exercise on these cold days. These are sounds of my house. My little burrow, half in the ground, a basement apartment with windows in each room to let the light in.

It is much colder here. Nearly everyone who hears I've recently moved from BC winces and asks how I'm adjusting. This question never phases me and I answer that it's fine, I grew up here and so it really hasn't been a shock. The thing is, the cold is easiest thing to adjust to. I actually take pleasure in meeting it head on. Unlike other things, like making new friends and dealing with bureaucracies, the cold seems very surmountable. I wear layers; leggings and jeans, gloves and mitts, headphones (serving as earmuffs) and a toque and a hood. I walk quickly. And despite the bitterness of the air and wind on the very coldest of days, I can not help but stop and appreciate how beautiful winter is here. The white sun is blinding reflecting off the snow. The conifers still have their needles to protect them, but other trees collect a layer of snow to shield their bare branches. The mist rises from the river where the unfrozen water water meets below freezing temperatures. Facing this winter - even just to walk to school and back, makes me feel strong. Though this is certainly taking it too far, I must admit that as I walk, I compare myself to pioneer women.

There is also inspiration in this extremity. Something about the juxtaposition of cold to warm and blinding sun to early dark. In the quiet, among the soft sounds of my apartment and in the less hectic schedule (for now) of this semester, there is space for words and art to resume. Exciting, and intimidating.

On the way home from school.