Cold (2009)
“I call it a lake, but really it is a flooded gravel pit dug into an oxbow, a long-abandoned river channel, to provide gravel for the more than four hundred miles of roads that crisscross the Alaskan oil fields. It is eleven in the morning, and what passes for dawn is upon us, which, at this latitude and this time of year, means the sky is subtly lightening in the east. An almost full moon shines through ice fog, along with the bright lights of industrial facilities in the distance and the headl...ights of an idling truck. The truck’s lights send beams out onto the lake, bisecting wind-sculpted snow on top of ice and capturing tiny suspended crystals of ice fog. Everywhere, the snow on the ground and the fog above it reflect the lights, snuffing out shadows and muffling any sense of contrast, the end effect disorienting.
We are lucky. Yesterday it was forty below and the day before even colder, the temperature as brutal as a physical assault, making one gasp for air but then forcing a stop mid-gasp as cold air batters warm lungs.MoreLess
We are lucky. Yesterday it was forty below and the day before even colder, the temperature as brutal as a physical assault, making one gasp for air but then forcing a stop mid-gasp as cold air batters warm lungs.MoreLess
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