I swear I can hear ice fingers tapping etched patterns on the windows, and that makes me grateful for double glazing even if it does mean there are no frost flowers on the outer pane. Perhaps it wasn’t all gain when Everest banished the Snow Queen to wherever it is she went.
All day I have felt that my bones can feel the cold. It’s not so of course, at least on the surface, because the thermometers register comfort readings throughout the house. Perhaps it’s a different kind of cold that bones experience, one that transcends physics and effective house building techniques.
And yet, when I look through the window into our quiet, sheltered little valley, there’s not much sign of cold to see unless I gaze to the hilltops. Perhaps my bones have long-distance receptors, and can feel the cold from far, far away where the hills, rather than green, are white.
