Cold Through the Eyes of a Runner.


The sun shines over the city.

It calls me to come.

To experience.

But the bitter cold mocks the sun.

Saying don’t go.

I refuse to listen.
I cloak myself in the here and now.

And go.

Taking that leap of faith, I go           I fly                  I live.

This is the story of my cold run yesterday on the empty Schuylkill River Trail!


It bites, it nibbles, it takes.

It embraces, it circles, it encompasses.

It taps, it hits, it punches.

I shiver, I quake, I persist.


All of this to say, it has been RIDICULOUSLY cold the past two weeks. Like bitter, you can’t even stand to walk to class sort of cold! The snow was pretty, for a moment. Then it got too terribly cold that it remains, yet in the form of ice and grey slush. The snow salt gives the city this odd appearance of a place in process of becoming clean. It has yet to get rinsed, and the residue of the scum builds up, on shoes, on the sidewalk, in the streets. (


But we push through these cold times, both literal and the psychological cold times.

And I cry

“How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?  Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;  my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes will rejoice when I fall. But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.  I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.” Psalm 13

And with that, the smile returns to my frozen face.


Photo Credit to: Sarah (, Robin, Allison, and Jacquiley

Trinkyi Through the Eyes of a Runner.

The sound of smiles resonate in a deafening roar around me. As the bitter cold chills my bones, I stop to look up at the white sky. How can such menial precipitation mixed with the finality of a semester bring so much joy?

It amazes me every year, around this time how the world becomes superficially pure. The soft blanket that covers this filthy world brings such peace for a moment. Even the talk and giggles as friends jaunt through the aput[1] seem like soft reverent whispers, insulated murmurs.

Eskimos have over 50 words for this phenomenon and blessing. Something so simple can bring such joy.

Yet we let this feeling fade as the chill sets in, as we step in that unwelcoming shlim[2].

This serenity flees our all too hardened hearts. This elegant attla[3] become naklin[4].

We let this happen. The murmurs have turned into distressing shouts. We argue it is our nature. We just settle that life isn’t beautiful nor could ever be.

But it is. Oh so beautiful.


Definitions of Eskimo Words:

Trinkyi- first snow of the year

[1]aput-snow on the ground

[2] shlim-slush

[3] attla- snow that as it falls creates nice pictures in the air

[4] naklin-forgotten snow


001 007