We had a respite here the past two days, and I had a revelation. 45 is almost tropical after 8.
This morning it's 22 and I'm already thinking of the stiff fingers and difficult to open plastic buckets of vitamins/minerals and flax that face me in the feed room.
I was thinking, though, that while there is a moment of dread over bundling up to go out into the cold, once there something changes and it becomes magical. There is something almost physiologically good about weather extremes.
In this intense (for us here in the south) cold, there's a purity of air and breath and thought that happens when I stand outside. My head clears, and my airways, and suddenly I can feel my body in a way I don't feel it when the air is warmer.
It's hard to imagine the heat of summer in this moment, but that opposite extreme has its own visceral sensations: heaviness, sweat, the feeling of almost melting into the heat and humidity.
The extremes defy distraction. They force us to be present and aware.
Which makes me think how much we lose when we buffer ourselves so successfully against the season's changes and extremes. How whole and complete we might be if we followed the wheel of the year and actually participated in its turning.