December 22nd, 2008

Blue Jack

scatter-shot

In the bleak midwinter
I had the oddest thought yesterday; a completely unscientific one that has nothing to do with the reality of jet streams and planetary poles or such - that the cold air that moves around the world in winter is  the closest we get to space without a vacuum suit. That the frigid temperatures embracing Chicago yesterday, which almost shut my lungs down and made my fingers and toes snap in pain when I went outside unprotected, are just the barest whispers, the scarcely resonating echoes, of the dead cold between stars.       
              
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