Jacinto Frost

Cold came to windmill country in the night. It crept over the llano on a silent army of snowflakes, followed by a wind-born icicle plague.

Non-booger stalactites. 

There was nowhere to run. Cows grew booger stalactites from their frigid noses. Cacti developed gooseflesh. Coyotes wept in falsetto, and La Llorona moaned, for once with reasonable grounds for complaint.

While the great world outside churned in sub-zero turmoil under an ice cube moon, the sugar plum children slept snug in their beds.

It sure is nice to live indoors. Mostly because it's the only proven way to avoid booger stalactites.

But the cold stuck around after dawn, and for days. Even the indoor-dwellers started to complain, and La Lorona became insufferable.

This is all to say that I've had enough winter now. You?