(Noah Vaughn)

And the day after the great snow storm: the sun shone and the sky was blue. In Chicago, such days were also the days when winter was at its sharpest, clear as broken glass. Wool socks on your feet, hands in your pockets, but insulated inside that heavy coat your body still feels an electrical hum, and every breath stings a bit. But that's fine: you are alive, you feel everything, the day is brightly lit, the sky is bluer than you think is possible in real life, it's beautiful.

Today though, here, was warm enough to regret wearing that heavy sweater. The snow has begun to melt into thick, grey pools. One ought to be grateful, but I miss the sudden icy gust that shut your eyes because it hurts, and the ringing sound it leaves in my ear.

My beautiful brown overcoat, it hangs in the closet, unworn for another winter.

Labels: Chicago