The Weight of Heat

Winter is a long negotiation with the cold. We gather what we can—wood for the stove, thick wool, the memory of a sun that once felt heavy on the skin. There is a particular kind of hunger that is not for food, but for the sensation of being awake. We seek out the sharp edges of things. A sudden sting on the tongue, a scent that cuts through the stagnant air of a room sealed against the frost. It is a way of proving that we are still here, still capable of feeling the difference between the numbness of the outside and the small, contained fire we carry within. We look for the spark that reminds us of the south, of places where the earth does not turn hard as iron. We hold these fragments of warmth like stones in our pockets, waiting for the thaw to finally break the silence of the long, grey months. What happens to the heat when the fire goes out?

Keshia Sophia has captured this fleeting warmth in her image titled Chilli and Spice Makes Everything Nice. It is a quiet study of the heat we carry through the dark. Does it stir a memory of summer in you?