It's that kind of cold.

Mid-January cold. The kind of cold that takes your breath away when you step outside to get the mail. The cold that stays in your bones for an hour after you're wrapped up on the sofa reading your novel. Below the bleak gray sky,the frigid gusts are knocking the last crumpled brown leaves to the frosted lawn. Squirrels move their ground stores into abandoned bird nests. In the air, there is only the sound of an occasional flock of geese leaving fashionably late for their winter get-away.

It should not be this cold before Thanksgiving - even here in the armpit of Ohio. Perhaps Mother Nature is confused because Wal-Mart has been selling Christmas decor since pre-Halloween.