You know it is cold outside when you blink a few times and the ice on your lashes locks your eyelids shut. It is approximately -37 C (-33 F) here in Barnaul Siberia now, and I am thinking seriously about the risk of just “letting go.” The cold has a way of sticking it to you… right in your face, and anywhere else it can find an opening. It creeps under your clothes and into your bones; and it screams out coldly, silently, for a reply. But you go on hunting and foraging, and trudging around trying to find a warmer clime to inhabit. If you are lucky you find it. If not, you wind up here, in Siberia.
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