After a long drought, with only a day or two of respite, it’s finally snowing, but not even just snowing — nuking. An inch an hour. Two inches an hour. And windy. Snowflakes fly like needles piercing unprotected earlobes. Frostnip shows itself as small patches of white skin on angled cheekbones. Hoods cover googles cover hats, but still ice sticks to beards, curls, eyelashes.

Peering through the flatlight, eyes squinted, I can see the base building. I can see windlips forming from here to Kansas. It’s brutal.

At home the message light blinks, the emails pile up:

Where are you?
Is your phone working?
Are you alive?
What’s happening?

I’m here; I’ll call you back soon. I’m not sure, but I’ll call you back soon. Yes! I’ll call you back soon. Winter is here and it’s a gift. I’ll call you back soon.

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