Category Archives: Cool weather

On thunder and lightning

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On a cool night in July when the wind blows up a summer storm, the rain falls, the lightning strikes, and thunder rolls across the mesa, one’s mind wanders aimlessly across the endless boundaries of the imagination, unbound, for once, by time and space. Wind scrapes through the leaves of the trees, which bend violently in the cold gusty air. The thunder cracks violently between buildings, and the lightning shines like the flash of an ancient anonymous photographer. On a cool night in July when you finally have a free moment, you can let your guard down and enjoy nature’s theatrics, letting the cool breeze quench the heat of the day. When you don’t have any more errands, the work of the day is done, there are no more responsibilities for today, then you can simply watch it rain without worrying about tomorrow. There is almost something sinister about the daily stress to which we submit ourselves and the damage it does to our minds and hearts. Sometimes it takes a cool night in July to remind one what it means not to worry for just a moment. No, the rest of the world does not stop spinning, and lots of things are going on across the world, but for just a moment, I am at home with the thunder and lightning.

On January

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The first month of the year is also the coldest month of the year in the northern hemisphere. This is even more true as a frigid arctic vortex spirals out of northern Canada and crawls into the midwest with unbelievably cold temperatures. Between the mean-spirited arctic wind, the cruel sub-zero temperatures, and the relentlessly ironic snow, a person might make plans to move to Arizona sometime in the very near future, if not yesterday. Living in the middle of a January winter is a challenge, but is it a challenge everyone wants to face? Since I now live in Texas, I don’t have to deal with winter. Perhaps it will be a little chilly tonight, but what’s one night compared to ninety nights of cold, black ice? I totally understand neighbors here in Texas who have vowed to never live in ice and snow again–they hate it. Yet, there is beauty in winter, and I know many people who just laugh in the face of sub-zero temperatures and endless drifts of snow as trivial circumstances that defeat only the weakest of minds. Are they sturdy or foolhardy? I couldn’t say, but I see the beauty in having four seasons–you really learn to appreciate the warm sun in spring, and frosty nights of October. Change is good, invigorating, makes you feel alive. I see January as just another challenge, no better or worse than 105F in the shade in central Texas in August.

On January

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The first month of the year is also the coldest month of the year in the northern hemisphere. This is even more true as a frigid arctic vortex spirals out of northern Canada and crawls into the midwest with unbelievably cold temperatures. Between the mean-spirited arctic wind, the cruel sub-zero temperatures, and the relentlessly ironic snow, a person might make plans to move to Arizona sometime in the very near future, if not yesterday. Living in the middle of a January winter is a challenge, but is it a challenge everyone wants to face? Since I now live in Texas, I don’t have to deal with winter. Perhaps it will be a little chilly tonight, but what’s one night compared to ninety nights of cold, black ice? I totally understand neighbors here in Texas who have vowed to never live in ice and snow again–they hate it. Yet, there is beauty in winter, and I know many people who just laugh in the face of sub-zero temperatures and endless drifts of snow as trivial circumstances that defeat only the weakest of minds. Are they sturdy or foolhardy? I couldn’t say, but I see the beauty in having four seasons–you really learn to appreciate the warm sun in spring, and frosty nights of October. Change is good, invigorating, makes you feel alive. I see January as just another challenge, no better or worse than 105F in the shade in central Texas in August.

On walking in the snow

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Walking in the snow is balm to the jagged nerves that the holidays tend to exacerbate. While it was snowing a couple of days ago, I went out for a walk to think about things. Into all lives a certain amount of chaos will always fall: people get older, they get sick and die, or they spend extended amounts of time in the process of dying. This isn’t morbid, it’s just real. The snow falls and reminds me that the seasons change, time goes by, we all get older, everything changes, nothing stays the same except the snow. Walking in the snow reminded me of all the other times in my life that I have walked in the snow–in Minnesota, in Spain, in Texas, in Nevada, in Canada. The snow is silent, gentle, and impersonal–it falls on the just and the unjust equally, and it always will. It covers the sleeping landscape, giving the earth a chance to sleep under an icy blanket, a white death shroud that lovingly envelops everything. When you walk in the snow, you become a part of the shroud, you are a part of death, the silence of the falling snow, the eternity of a single moment. A single snow flake is proof that the entire universe moves towards lowest energy, towards entropy, and we are only incidental players on a universal stage.

On walking in the snow

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Walking in the snow is balm to the jagged nerves that the holidays tend to exacerbate. While it was snowing a couple of days ago, I went out for a walk to think about things. Into all lives a certain amount of chaos will always fall: people get older, they get sick and die, or they spend extended amounts of time in the process of dying. This isn’t morbid, it’s just real. The snow falls and reminds me that the seasons change, time goes by, we all get older, everything changes, nothing stays the same except the snow. Walking in the snow reminded me of all the other times in my life that I have walked in the snow–in Minnesota, in Spain, in Texas, in Nevada, in Canada. The snow is silent, gentle, and impersonal–it falls on the just and the unjust equally, and it always will. It covers the sleeping landscape, giving the earth a chance to sleep under an icy blanket, a white death shroud that lovingly envelops everything. When you walk in the snow, you become a part of the shroud, you are a part of death, the silence of the falling snow, the eternity of a single moment. A single snow flake is proof that the entire universe moves towards lowest energy, towards entropy, and we are only incidental players on a universal stage.

On very cold weather

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A cold front, a huge blob of cold, meta-cold air, is drifting south out of Canada this evening. Wind chills are already in the double-digits below zero in most of the area, and I suspect that tomorrow will not be a nice day for going out, visiting, shopping, church, or most anything else. It will be forty degrees colder when I get up in the morning than it right now. You’d think I’d be used to such outrageous weather, but living in central Texas makes a body soft and whimpy. We don’t get this kind of weather in Waco. We often get triple-digit heat–nothing unusual there–but we never, ever, get double-digit temperatures below zero, windchill or otherwise. Oh, yes, we have the other extreme, but if you just stay out of the sun, the weather won’t kill you, no matter how hot it is. Here in the north, however, the wind howls, the house shakes, and frigid arctic air is barreling down on the midwest, making all of our lives just a little more interesting than we really need. Of course, I own good winter gear–a down coat, big gloves, boots, long underwear, a big woolly scarf, a down-filled hat–but I could always use more. I worry about the animals that have to stay outside. I’m sure they have burrowed in for the night, keeping a low, low profile with this ugly wind blowing. After living for twenty-plus years in Minnesota, you’d think I wouldn’t even notice such a thing. In the meantime, what is really surprising is how most people just go one with their lives as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I saw one lady at the gas station just now with no coat on. Post-script: it will warm up just fine by the end of the week.

On very cold weather

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A cold front, a huge blob of cold, meta-cold air, is drifting south out of Canada this evening. Wind chills are already in the double-digits below zero in most of the area, and I suspect that tomorrow will not be a nice day for going out, visiting, shopping, church, or most anything else. It will be forty degrees colder when I get up in the morning than it right now. You’d think I’d be used to such outrageous weather, but living in central Texas makes a body soft and whimpy. We don’t get this kind of weather in Waco. We often get triple-digit heat–nothing unusual there–but we never, ever, get double-digit temperatures below zero, windchill or otherwise. Oh, yes, we have the other extreme, but if you just stay out of the sun, the weather won’t kill you, no matter how hot it is. Here in the north, however, the wind howls, the house shakes, and frigid arctic air is barreling down on the midwest, making all of our lives just a little more interesting than we really need. Of course, I own good winter gear–a down coat, big gloves, boots, long underwear, a big woolly scarf, a down-filled hat–but I could always use more. I worry about the animals that have to stay outside. I’m sure they have burrowed in for the night, keeping a low, low profile with this ugly wind blowing. After living for twenty-plus years in Minnesota, you’d think I wouldn’t even notice such a thing. In the meantime, what is really surprising is how most people just go one with their lives as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I saw one lady at the gas station just now with no coat on. Post-script: it will warm up just fine by the end of the week.

On walking in the cold rain

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Walking in the cold rain today between tasks gave me the opportunity to cool off, collect my thoughts, ponder the week that was just ending. December is a strange time, filled with change, the end of a semester, people leaving, some dying, others moving on, still others are new on the scene. Perhaps no other month is filled the transitions that December brings, and today’s cold rain gave me pause to think about those who had just left and those who are just arriving. The cold rain fell on both the just and the unjust alike today, and on the just plain tired as well. The students scurried to their exams, some going to their final final exams, graduating in just over a week–they too are in transition in the cold and rain. The cold and rain are cloaked in nostalgia, the same now as thirty years ago, or maybe even fifty years ago as I head into class, kindergarten, wearing a corduroy coat and a hat, mittens. The cold and rain span a half century of memories that seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. The cold and rain are the same now as they were then, comforting in the sense that although I have changed, the rain has not. The cold keeps the mind sharp, the senses wide open, the heart warm, and the nose cold. The passage of time is illusory, and although the calendar tells me that time is passing, I know that time and calendars are only arbitrary and illusory social constructions without meaning. Only the cold rain is real.

On walking in the cold rain

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Walking in the cold rain today between tasks gave me the opportunity to cool off, collect my thoughts, ponder the week that was just ending. December is a strange time, filled with change, the end of a semester, people leaving, some dying, others moving on, still others are new on the scene. Perhaps no other month is filled the transitions that December brings, and today’s cold rain gave me pause to think about those who had just left and those who are just arriving. The cold rain fell on both the just and the unjust alike today, and on the just plain tired as well. The students scurried to their exams, some going to their final final exams, graduating in just over a week–they too are in transition in the cold and rain. The cold and rain are cloaked in nostalgia, the same now as thirty years ago, or maybe even fifty years ago as I head into class, kindergarten, wearing a corduroy coat and a hat, mittens. The cold and rain span a half century of memories that seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. The cold and rain are the same now as they were then, comforting in the sense that although I have changed, the rain has not. The cold keeps the mind sharp, the senses wide open, the heart warm, and the nose cold. The passage of time is illusory, and although the calendar tells me that time is passing, I know that time and calendars are only arbitrary and illusory social constructions without meaning. Only the cold rain is real.