The Cold Purifies the Soul

There was no fire going when I crawled out of bed. I could tell because the front room was dark. I pulled my pajamas on, stumbled around until I found my slippers and made my way to the coffee pot. After giving KB some shit about it being her job to build me a fire every morning, I made my way to the side porch door. I thought about putting my jacket on and then just opened the door quickly and stepped into the dawn air while slamming the door behind me.

The damp air seemed to embrace me like a sad friend I hadn’t seen in years but am  happy to see, even if it’s under these circumstances. I stand there for a few moments and try to take a deep breath to let the cold fill my lungs. Damn cold! I started hacking up a lung which was my cue to get what I came for. I gather a few pieces of wood and head back inside.

Back when I was a teenage anarchist, which comes right before the time that I was an adult anarchist, I lived in a dank basement room. Looking back it was perfect. There was window that could be opened but would probably allow a fairly large population of spiders to enter my abode, so it never was. It was always damp and there was a bit of a smell. The one light in the middle of the room didn’t quite light the corners. I remember having a real bed at one point, but for some reason I ended up with just a mattress on the floor.

The only other furniture was my desk.

I spent hours sitting at that desk staring at the population of spiders outside my window whilst slinging words at blank pages in an attempt to make sense of the thoughts in my head and the world that surrounded me. If I had the time and the motivation, I could probably find the page where the words first fell out of my pen, but alas, I don’t think it’s necessary. I’m almost certain that everything else that came out was garbage and had more to do with teenage heartbreak than anything else. Cold purifies the soul.

I woke up this morning to a whole bunch of social media yelling about the cold, about the impending winter. I just smiled. My thoughts have been filled with fat bikes, but this last storm has me turned northward trying to see through the clouds to my mountain. I love winter and the cold and the snow and everything else that comes with it.

Part of escaping for me is the simple pleasure of escaping the masses. Drop a little snow on you favorite place and suddenly you can enjoy it all by yourself. The photo at the top of this post, is taken where the stream hits Pine Valley Reservoir. During the summer your guaranteed to share the lake with someone else, but throw some snowshoes on and trek to it during the winter and you can be the person making the first tracks.

The closest I’ve ever been to finding silence was at the top of that mountain, in January. Prozac and I had the bright idea of snowshoeing to the top and spending the night. Darkness fell around 5. The only noises heard were the crackling of the fire and our own shivers. The only sounds until 7 the next morning when the sun finally broke over the ridge and we dared emerge from our nylon cocoons.

I don’t dislike the other seasons, I just fucking love winter.

P. L. and R.