At forty below, things get a bit strange.
Trees in the forest crack like rifle shots. The snow squeaks like pieces of styrofoam rubbed together. Your car makes funny sounds, too, and shifting gears becomes quite difficult. Throw a cup of boiling water into the air, and it freezes before it hits the ground as tinkling drops of ice.
Out here on the Dempster, the sky is absolutely clear, blue and cloudless. The sun is brilliant and not at all warming.
In town, I imagine the ice fog hangs low and thick, the sunlight muted (and still not warming).
The day will be spent indoors, playing with babe and dogs, reading, napping, cooking (braised short ribs for dinner!), keeping the fire stoked, dreaming of spring...