The mornings have been beautiful around here lately, but carry a bit of a bite. Lily the Terrorist doesn't dawdle when finding a bush to bless lately. She's a short-hair so her blood hasn't thickened up yet.
I remember all of the adventures in high school concerning hunting season and cattle driving. The cows and horses generated a fog over themselves from breathing and eventually sweating. I usually felt a little sorry for the cows that had to be dipped before being loaded onto the truck for the ride back to the ranch. Sitting on a horse on the treeless Salmon River Breaks in the early morning was mind numbing. Gutting a deer was a nice respite until you had to pull your wet hands out and subject them back to the cold wind.
It didn't help that my fingers had been frost-bitten on a sledding trip. Sometimes they just quit working in the cold and trying to get them warmed up was an exercise in sheer pain when the feeling started to come back. Placing frozen hands into naked armpits was torturous, but warm water immersion was a death wish. Maybe that's why I never got excited about skiing.
The more I think about it the better I like the idea of being wrapped in a buffalo skin and sit warmly by my computer. I don't have one, but the thought is comforting. The other option is to curl up like a big bear and hibernate until the Spring. Each to their own comforts, I suppose.