a portrait of my child once a week, every week, in 2013
A pomelo helmet. My little guy, his big imagination.
Yesterday I made my way into town for some staples and found my fingers stiff and aching from holding the cold steering wheel. One hand on the wheel, one tucked between my legs, and switch. As my people are wont to say: it's colder than a witch's tit. And apparently I need gloves to drive.
It's taken me a while to accept the severity of the season this far north. I've claimed more than once that' it's not so different. When asked how we keep warm I've responded simply with a just like everybody else, but as I walked the brick sidewalk yesterday morning I couldn't help but notice all of my layers felt reduced to a cotton summer dress. It is undoubtedly different. And bone chilling wind aside, I love it.