Winter

It smells different here in the winter, something that can’t quite be put into words.  You can notice it, even in the car, speeding along with others, maneuvering between lanes.  It’s heat, fire, being alive against the forbidding landscape.  It’s the heat against the callous cold.  There are the cold dead people in the ground, and there are the people who are alive above, with their heat and their breath and their souls.  And their love.