Bitter, bitter cold.
It is hard not to dream forward to spring, then lazy summer days. I remind myself that time spent longing for enigmatic futures is paid for by time lost from actual present moments.
This cold is delicious! It pings like delicate crystal, everything frozen to the point of extreme fragility!
I imagine a tiny flick of my finger shattering the world into a million pieces, that I possess a weapon of mass destruction.
It occurs to me that I can luxuriate in this sensation of bitter cold because I am dressed to endure it, my heated house waits paternally nearby to rescue me when I no longer want to endure it, and I have a few dollars in my pocket to pay for warmth and a cup of coffee in the interim.