Near Zero

I was thinking, as I took a brief pause from watching Ryuichi Sakamoto: Coda by opening the french balcony of my apartment on Stewart, how odd it is that people have chosen to live in a place where the temperature routinely crosses zero, zig-zagging on either side of that invisible line for months at a time; how for a large portion of the year we cannot trust to colour of the sky to inform us of the relative cold of a given day. I thought about it and then returned to the film. Such are the facts of nature that they remain at once consistent and unpredictable, unknowable.