Groen Park, Chatfield, MN

Sunday, January 25, 2026 at 3:15 p.m.; 3 degrees feels like -6 due to 12 mph winds.

I arrive craving nature time. I need fresh air. I need solid ground. I step out with fortitude and immediately notice the river that ran rapidly 10 days ago is now frozen over. Bare branches vibrate in the ever-present wind. Vine spirals catch my eye. Circling, twisting, intertwining. 

​I briefly linger, my gaze following vines wrapped around each other and noting that my mind refuses to unwind.
​
I can’t settle in these conditions. 

I need warmth. I need clarity. I need resolution. None of which I will get today.

So, instead, I focus on the bright sunlight and feel my tingling toes, my heavy heart, my Minnesotan identity. And I accept the tangled reality.