Feeling

It punctuates the air like an exclamation point in the growing darkness of night. The cold is sharp and fast. It flows over my body as a river over the bedrock. Still the stinging produces nothing. My eyes are welling and tears begin to flow. This isn't emotion I am feeling. I do not shiver and I respect the cold like a local in a village I am passing through. I choose not to give in, even though my eyes have already shown a response. They produce more fluid, and it continues to run down my cheeks, like so much windshield wiper fluid on the freeway. I know that it's a natural response, to protect my eyes from drying up. But it's the closest thing I have felt to crying, and it feels good.