I brush the snow off my car once again, scrape ice off the windshield, shiver while waiting for the heater to get going, and nervously wonder whether the car will handle the extreme cold or if the engine will stall the first time I stop at a red light.
I dig out woollen socks and thick sweaters to wear in my drafty flat.
I accept the fact that walking to work takes an extra ten minutes when a spell of milder weather has turned all the snow into slush and water, creating impassable lakes on street corners.
I sigh and walk with care the following day when all the lakes have frozen into icy patches.
I become an expert in driving on ice and in thick, mushy snow, and in avoiding the use of windshield wipers because they have frozen into place.
I take detours to avoid tall buildings where tons of snow and ice threaten to slide off the roof and kill an unsuspecting passer-by.
I wonder how many days or weeks it will be before the sun makes a brief appearance, hanging low in the southern sky.
I want to close my eyes when I travel on the main roads where salt has turned all the white snow into brownish-grey mush that makes the whole world look like a desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape.
I light candles to fight off the darkness that descends around 4 pm.
I marvel at the fact that, even though many birds have moved south, rare birds of prey come out of the forests to look for food.
I even find entertainment in watching how deftly snowplows, tractors and lorries clear snow off the streets and sidewalks, easily moving around parked cars and signposts.
I watch the stars on clear nights, and sometimes the aurora borealis.
And sometimes, I walk out into the vast expanse of the frozen sea where there is only silence and wilderness, and I'm cold but I survive it and I love it.
Everything is asleep but maybe that is what we need for now.
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