Cool heads. Warm homes.

If it is true that cooler heads will prevail, then, well, we are looking at one awesomely peaceful existence here in Oregon where summer and warm weather have become distant memories.

The temperatures have dipped ten to twelve degrees below the normal for this time of the year.  It is so cold that, as an old joke goes, cows when milked are producing ice cream, and it is chocolate milkshakes from brown cows!

It is a life far away from the hot, hot days of Neyveli, where the overnight low temperature of 73 degrees is numerically a larger number than the sum of the high (46) and low (22) temperatures here in Eugene.

But then, I have, to a large extent, acclimated to life in these cooler climes.  Cold weather is hot soup time. Cold weather is an additional reason to think about life. Cold weather is also when I went for my five-mile walk.

A few years ago, even I would not have imagined walking five miles--out of my own choice--in such temperature conditions.  Life is unpredictable even when it comes to such mundane matters too, and not merely when it is about health and wealth.

It was a little after the noon hour when I checked the temperature app in the iPhone.  38.

38!  In Fahrenheit, when in my childhood 38C was a pleasant summer day!

I headed out for the walk.

Not many were out and about.  What really surprised me was this--no kids too.  If they are not outside--playing, or biking, or simply idling--what are the kids up to these days?

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A young couple, each struggling with a dog on a leash, was approaching me.  One was a puppy, who was perhaps wondering why he was not allowed to run around freely.  With his tail wagging, he attempted to reach towards me when the young man pulled the leash tighter.  I smiled at the dog.  I wonder if dogs recognize a smiling face from a frowning one.

The river was flowing fast and was muddy brown from the rains.  The boulders in the middle were mostly submerged, unlike in the late summer.  Soon, with more rains, the river will completely hide those huge rocks, and it will be a game of peek-a-boo until next summer.

As I got to the bridge to cross over to the west bank, the light breeze over the waters and the open space made it seem like the temperature dropped a few more degrees.  I picked up my pace.

The west bank was even more deserted. The colorful and beautiful golden and red leaves on trees of a couple of weeks ago were now dirty brown on the ground.  A metaphor for our own lives.  Beautiful people, too, die, like how we ugly people also die.

My nose and ears and fingers were all cold as I fumbled for the key to unlock the front door.  What a lucky guy I am to have a warm home to return to!

Mr. Curious had to know right away what the temperature was; it had warmed up from the 38 that it was when I left home:

My balding head felt icy cold, which means that I will prevail!