… when -27°C (-20°F) feels so balmy that you have to open not only your jacket, but your hoodie as well, and take off your mittens because it’s just too hot.
|Four months of solitude, and yeah, I do look a bit ... wild|
January is always a quiet month out here, the animals settled into their mid-winter range which doesn’t seem to include us. It’s also been nice and cold for a change. I invariably look forward to cold snaps where every little task feels like a major achievement: chopping the day’s firewood supply while fingers and toes turn something very much like frozen wood, chopping the thick ice that encroaches into the waterhole from the sides and threatens to constrict the diameter to less than water bucket size, going for a walk without re-freezing my toe, frost-bitten a few winters ago.
And just as invariably, after four days or so I begin to grumble at the same things I looked forward to. Waking up to 5°C (40°F) inside the cabin is losing its charm. Goes to show how moods are silly things and have just about nothing to do with outside influences, and all the more with how we deal with situations.
Writing is a fun way out of cabin fever, a little trip into a fantasy world entirely my own, and I’ve been spending pleasant weeks kicking words around inside my head.
There has been precious little to blog about, so I didn’t, but here are some images to make up for the lack of posts:
|Ice pushed up into a pressure ridge, imitating plate tectonics|
|My water hole and its attendant sun dial|
|Haven't been using my studio to avoid having to heat two buildings|
|I can never get enough of the incredible variants of winter light|
|Morning yellow is one of my favourite colours|