The Cold

I always love cold days. Growing up and living in the American South, the cold is an uncommon visitor, and where we live, there hasn't been a snowflake in several years now.

For this winter, I'm aiming low. I asked for some cold days and at least one pure and perfect flake of snow. That must seem idiotic to people who measure their snow in feet. But here it's beautiful.

Ice house in Dr. Zhivago

Which is why I will be watching the Packers play at Lambeau Field this afternoon in an NFL playoff game. The game will almost certainly be imperfect, but the dream kingdom of the cold north will be lovely to see yet again.

The film Dr. Zhivago came out when I was fifteen, and the scene that always swept me away was Yuri in the "ice house" writing poetry as he knew the world was about the collapse around him. That, I thought, is who I am.

Still is, almost fifty years later.