On a morning when the (real) temperature is Minus 11 (or 11 below, or negative 11, or however you want to say it), this poem pretty much sums up life in Minnesota in January.
(I do not know the origin of the poem. It seems to have been published in a local city newspaper, then posted to a Park District Facebook page, then picked up by a Facebook friend of mine. That’s how the Internet works, I guess!)
Snapshots from the Polar Vortex
I like this Joann. Sounds like you could have written it. You can always run down here and warm up. It’s only 39 F outside our bedroom window just now.