Psychrophilic: thriving at a relatively low temperature
There are times when I know I am meant to live in the north. Today is one of them.
We had lashings of snow yesterday, and, true to the Maritimes, everyone except the snowblowers and emergency people had a snow day. The silence here in the city was memorable, soothing, and wrapped us all in a frosty blanket. Almost everything shut down. You could practically hear the hygge happening
I am, of course, exceedingly grateful for central heating, a roof over my head and the occasional cat cuddle. I hate the thought of people living outside in this temperature.
Privilege guilt notwithstanding, today I find it hard not to sing as the sun reflects off of the snowball decorated trees and branches. It’s so delightfully BRIGHT out.
It makes me miss the prairies, where they did cold and brightness like pros, where the sun would dazzle you as the wind took your skin off – but I never had a winter blues day.
It makes me glad to have the chance today to wander in the glare, breathe in the snow-cleaned air, hear the crunch of my boots on the icy snow. I feel fresh ALL OVER, as a toddler would say.
Suddenly, all seems possible, if coldly framed.
Those of you who live in more temperate climates miss this freshening. The air feels better. My eyes soak up sunshine and brighten my mood, but it’s the air that makes it special. Snow (and rain) clean the air of those little awful particles we all breathe and, having been in several north places of late, you can tell the difference with every breath. Sadly, the same cleaning means eating snow is a very bad idea. Sadly, because I love the taste of snow, too, mad child that I am.