Last night the lid was lifted off Minnesota. The wind began and has continued stark and bitter all the day. The temperature dropped steadily so that upon going out in the afternoon the outdoors that had been so friendly, where people lived and worked and played, was now savagely hostile. It is the straight wind driving all the warmth away, keen, relentless and indifferent.
The sky with which we had become so familiar having lived under it all our lives formerly was gone. The homogenous and indistinct grey left behind was holding none of our heat in. The heat rushed out and after it the malevolent winds sweep over the desolate ground. Our final extermination appears to be at hand, for we have become a fragment of earth that has been placed in the treasure house of ideas, where the Idea of the Arctic is usually stored.