I’ve forgotten. I forgot how cold it can get in New England. I’ve lived here for almost thirty years now including the time I spent wandering around Pease Air Force Base, but I’ve forgotten just how darn cold damp cold can be. Now, mind you I grew up in Montana where it routinely gets cold. In the winter in Montana, thirty or forty below zero is a common occurrence. But there the only moisture in a year ranges around an inch. So the coldness was a dry coldness. It was a coldness that if you kept dry and out of the wind you could manage and if you’ve got a strong shelter with a decent fire going the coldness stays at bay.
New England Coldness is a damp sticky coldness. At twenty below zero with just a little wind blowing bringing the chill down to ungodly levels the coldness sort of penetrates the fabric of your outer garments and sticks to you like an evil entity trying to rob you of your soul, and it doesn’t let go. You may say to yourself, “I’ll go inside and keep warm.” But alas no, there is no escape from the frigged devil.
They say that Hell is a burning place, but I disagree. Hell is a cold place where you can’t escape nor warm yourself from the ever present chill. The devil is an old crippled demon with a perpetual drip frozen to the end of his nose and a pitch fork frosted with black ice, but I digress.
I forgot, Now it’s time to pray and bring in the spring warmth. Demon be gone.