At the moment it’s 5º and the wind chill is -9º. The January freeze has arrived. The killing season. Insects and viruses face certain death, along with more than we know. It’s been a while since it’s been this cold. Yesterday, just as the temperature was starting to dive, a small flock of bluebirds descended on the red chokeberry bush in the back yard. Not long after, a Cooper’s hawk scouted the tree line. And Brodi lay in his place, dreaming of Africa, of warm savannahs, a burning red sun, and silent adventures in the land of lions. I’m certain he dreamed me with him.