warming to the cold

One of the joys of air travel is that you can be sweating one day and shivering the next.
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As you can tell, I am in Oregon.  Like much of North America above The Misguided Fence, Oregon has hosted some near-record snows and accompanying cold temperatures.

Most of that is in the past now.  But not entirely. 

My brother's place has some snow residue.  That type of snow that looks like the embodiment of dadaist poetry or one of those 19th century maps showing the Germanic states that remained loyal to the Austrian emperor.  Take your choice of cultural roads that diverge in the wood.

The photograph tells all.  We may not be experience freezing temperatures constantly in Bend, but it is chilly.

And that is fine with me.  I spent most of the summer in Melaque, and the weather never seemed to cool down much during this winter.  Plenty of hot days and sticky nights.

I suspect some of my Canadian readers will think I am nuts when I confess I would like to see a day or two of snow (Oregon snow, mind you; not Ontario snow) in Melaque.  Just for a change of pace.  The worst thing about Melaque's heat is its foolish consistency -- as Emerson would have it.

But I do not need to search out Ontario to find someone who thinks I am a bit daft to speak well of the Bend chill.  My sister-in-law is tired of it.  Thus do we speak of warmer climes in Mexico.

I will be here for two more weeks soaking in as much of this pleasant weather as I can.  But I suspect weather is like sleep.  You can't bank it up for the future.

And, just as an airplane quickly pulled me out of sweaty Melaque, another airplane will take me back. 

The world will be in balance -- with God in his Heaven.