For a friend in Minneapolis.

In my early twenties I lived in Minneapolis with my best friend. It was the month of January and my nose hairs froze when I left the house. My eyes watered and my tears froze against my cheeks. I slipped on the ice most days just walking to the car. All I wanted to do most the time was stay indoors eating chocolate and watching movies under thick blankets.

My dear friend, a Minnesotan born and bred, could not be deterred. She woke early with her three dogs (also Minnesotans) and let them out of doors to happily bound around the house through frigid snow drifts.

For my friend and her four legged companions, this terrible cold was not a problem to avoid. This horrible inhumane assault of deep winter was all a piece, fodder for the good fight.

To enjoy the waning light of each short day, walking on the lake’s thick ice to art shanties, biking through the snow to libraries and breweries. Warm rooms brimming over with fellow Minnesotans, all celebrating the sheer good fortune of a heated space, air in the lungs, blood in the veins.

In Minnesota I learned what it was to not go quietly into the dark night, but to revel amongst others, fully, and in all circumstances.

With love from Massachusetts.

Christa Joy