They call it cold, and the wind does bring a bitter bite, but I still brave it coatless, rushing from building to building. They don’t know the kind of cold that comes with humidity, its frigid fingers clawing their way through your layers until it penetrates your core with an icy grip that congeals the blood in your veins.
This cold comes with blue skies so barren you can see from Rainier to Baker. The city, the Sound are framed by monstrous peaks frosted by snow. I finally see what I’ve felt all along, tucked away safe in this valley.