-5.4. That's right. Minus-five-point-four Farenheit. Right after I took this snapshot, I stepped outside, and closed the door. For the first few seconds, I thought: It's not so bad. But after ten seconds (I was counting) the bitter brittle air started to tighten its cold group around my exposed hands and face. I stepped back inside.
As I write this, nearly thirty minutes later, the temperature on my outdoor thermometer is reading -6.3. Minus six-point-three. My hands are only now beginning to feel warm.
New England is in the midst of its coldest weather in years. It's the lead story in every media outlet. The weekend's forecast is going to be in the mid-thirties, and we're looking forward to it! Our only consolation: No snow. But the blustery wind is making up for that deficit.
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