‘Cold’ doesn’t begin to describe 40 below. The ice fog has come down in full force and hidden Fairbanks from view, the valley is socked in. London’s pea soup fog doesn’t have anything on this dense cloud. You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a Fairbanks January (and February…). But I’d rather be in Fairbanks than Chicago. Brr; that wet wind off Lake Michigan is worse than this dry, calm cold. The entire world is frozen; nothing moves except the far-away sound of traffic, square tires that haven’t warmed into roundness yet. Tha-thum, tha-thum, tha-thum. Sound seems to travel much farther when it’s this cold. I’ve been able to sit most of this out, snug in my house. Got to work up the motivation to go back to work tomorrow.
