When it’s cold like this, really cold, the air from the humidifier hits the window and little droplets of water form along the bottom edge. There have been times this long, continuous winter, where they actually freeze, and it’s like the outside is seeping in through the glass, no longer content with only the outdoors as its domain.

I turn down the humidifier, but it doesn’t always help, the window so cold that any moisture at all in the air seems to find a spot to gather. I can turn it off completely, but then it gets arid, dry enough to draw any moisture from me, until I feel like a long-suffering mummy.

Either way, the weather wins.

It’s seasons like this when the Earth shows her sharp, glistening teeth, when we can see that we are mere guests here. We are only being tolerated.

Things could become very uncomfortable very quickly, and the planet wouldn’t care. We are so fragile, and the Earth so enduring. We found a niche, but niches don’t always last forever.

You’d think we’d try to keep ours going.