Tales from the Frozen North
A week ago Tuesday, I power-walked down my street and onto the shore drive, only to stop dead and stare… at an immense full moon setting over the Park Street corridor, blessing even that ugly mass of brick and concrete with beauty.
Walking home from the class I’m auditing that same day, I enjoyed the privilege of watching the moon rise over Monona Bay, huge and deep-orange and just a bit shape-distorted from being so low over the horizon. I chivvied my husband into going out to look at it as soon as I got home. He thanked me for sending him out into the subzero cold.
Holy cats, this is a beautiful place.
Only in Wisconsin: I walk out into the roughly-freezing-point air this morning, happy that I don’t have to wear my goofy-looking hat to keep my ears from frostbite, and have a neighbor greet me with “Isn’t it nice and warm out?”
Yes. Yes, it sure is. Pity it won’t last. But I wouldn’t trade my Frozen North for all the beaches and deserts in the world.