Fourteen Below

The sights and sounds from a warm and crackling fire the night before, still do linger.  The smoldering essence of delicious and delightful wafts and the occasional dribble and sticky drips from the sap of the Great Northern pine, fills and warms me still.  Fourteen below zero brushed and bit and nipped at my cheek, just as the light started to come.  With a prickly brush to my brow, cold this bitter has never been more beautiful.