Enga mellom fjella

Rose soap and onion soup

Rose soap and onion soup

I am standing here naked having taken a late shower. It is 4:15 and the sky dims as evening approaches. I can still smell the rose soap, almost feel the warm water. It's important to thoroughly dry before I wrap up to go out on the town. It is -2.6 degrees.

The Clark Fork's south channel's iced over and the flows of slush in the middle are barely broke up by the rapids. There are no kayakers out at Brenan's Wave. The winds howl and the flag on the Old Milwaukee depot flaps furiously. It never got above Zero today.

I put on something to wait till I'm dry. It's not the family jewels that matter. What's not being used can thaw some other time. It's just that my bum doesn't have enough padding, doesn't like a cold seat.

The onion broth is warming and I have a baguette, bought fresh from the bakery, Le Petit Outre. I'll cut a piece and slather it in butter, then dip it and pretend that I'm ready to go for the day.

And I wonder whether, when I return, the pine scented candle in the window will still be lighting the way.

PHOTO:

December 6th was warm and sunny:



December 14th was colder than Hell:

Montana: -2.4º at 17:20

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