When the cold comes, and it always comes, we’re never quite as prepared as we think we should be. We lie, tell ourselves we’ve been through it before, we’ll get through it again, but without fail it is startling, it is jarring, and it shakes us to the centers. Winter in a state like Montana takes what you think you know of endurance, and erodes it. It washes it away in small increments, in darkness coming at 4:45pm, in sunrises that wait until 8am. It pulls away pieces of yourself in early September snowfall that stays until the first of May, in two weeks straight where the temperature never rises above -15°F, and you stop feeling your fingers within moments of stepping outdoors. It tests you, like all things test you, and my hope is that on the other side of all this, such great strength is born. Now, wherever you are reading this, whatever your weather, ask yourself this: What have you endured that you never thought possible? What strength was born in the things you survived that you swore would undo you? Let us know, if you wish.
Take these frozen hands
and breathe life back into them.
It is warmth I miss.
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