The Art of Conversation…

Cold. Unrelentingly cold. Dry unforgiving temps have deeply permeated my world this winter. I can’t quite seem to find the warmth. This past weekend was no exception. A cold that cuts one in half. Four degrees the high.

Last Sunday we took a drive. My husband Jon and me. Out to lunch as I have been recuperating for many days, but I had reached my limit of being housebound. Despite the weather out I would go.

We travelled the hilly windy roads of Vermont. The scenery reassuringly beautiful. The landscape a blanket of white. Purity. Untainted. Clouds of snow wildly and forcefully blew and swirled over the vast uninterrupted landscape. February certainly tests ones resolve and claims of loving to live so far north.

On we travelled and crossed a bridge linking Vermont to New Hampshire. The wide river covered in snow and ice except for the deep current snaking along while exposing a dark brooding water. Aimlessly traveling and rambling up or downstream. Did it matter?

Our conversation was filled with caution and worry. These past two weeks since the inauguration have felt much like living in an alternate reality. People really voted for this? I anxiously asked Jon. Hoping he could allay my fears but…

We arrived at our destination. Hanover NH. A vibrant college town. Home to Dartmouth College. We parked the car and…