Everyone in Chicago is talking about the cold. Weather is always classified as polite conversation, a filler for when there is nothing else to say. But the weather here has personality and a malevolent presence. It walks with you, you feel its absence and changing moods. Talking about the weather is as active a topic as you could wish for.

Yesterday we plunged to -27C. The cold bit, gnawed and clawed at every inch of skin exposed on my face and the wind needled its way into my bones. My marrow, my essence was cold, the roads were white, the trees were black and the sky iridescent in midnight.

They tell me this is as cold as it gets. I am so glad, I was getting to the end of my resources.