It was 9 degrees this morning for my walk to work, and 20 this evening when I walked home after yoga. I really didn't notice the difference - both felt very cold. The compacting snow, becoming icy in places, squeaked and crackled underfoot. Some trees still hung onto their dry leaves, and these rustled and rattled in the wind as I walked by.
I have a lot of cold weather clothing, left from my years in Alaska, and I know how to layer and bundle up. Still, being out when it is this cold feels tenuous and edgy to me. In spite of the gear, I arrived at my destinations with cold hands and feet.
I know, consciously and unconsciously, that it is too cold, and that if I weren't able to keep moving and didn't have a warm place to come in to, that I could be in a life threatening situation.
As I walked under a squirrel's nest, high up in the bare branches with the wind whistling past, I wondered about how it managed to keep warm enough to survive.
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