The Snow Beneath My Boots Would Glitter and Squeak

This picture is old. It was taken behind our farmhouse in Iowa after a blizzard. It may feel over-exposed, but it’s not. That’s exactly how everything looked. The world was so incredibly white it was difficult to look at for any length of time.

The world is white again, though not to that extent, which I had never seen before and haven’t experienced since. The snow right now is squeaky, compressing down into ice with each step, making every path treacherous. The temperatures are missing. As I sit sipping my iced coffee (What is wrong with me—hot chocolate in the summer and iced coffee in the winter?), it’s 2°F, which is quite a bit nicer than the -11°F it started out as this morning. These aren’t windchills I’m talking about either.

Going outside is dreadful. I haven’t wished for thermal underwear or snow pants since I was eight, but these days I’d trade every pair of shoes I own for some proper blizzard gear.

Title From:
Montana
by Dave Stamey