I completely forgot what “cold” means.
Right now I find myself in Dennis’ parents’ house, cuddled up on the couch. I am wearing two sweaters, jeans, thick socks, and the bright green removable hood of one of my down jackets. My nose is frozen. There is snow on the ground. The sky is a beautiful robin’s egg blue and it’s 3:30. My belly is full of Russian food, I hear the familiar sounds of family footsteps creaking and plodding through the house, and I am so thankful to be home.
When I stepped out of the doors of JFK this morning, into the bright fresh air, I felt my nostrils close up from the sudden inhaling of cold air. It was fabulous. I’d forgotten how different the cold feels here–sharp and biting. Down there, in Brazil, when it’s cold, it’s a cold that slowly seeps into your pores and chills you down to the bone. Here, there’s no seeping about it. It’s a shark bite of cold–frozen before you know it.
I love it here. I love home. I love the cold. I love this snow and the sun reflecting off it. I love the bare trees–their skinny fingers sticking up into the blue. I love the solace of houses and warm blankets. I love the fact that I am with family. I am so thankful to be home.