Uncover the Secret Delicacy Hidden Beneath Our Feet: The Surprising Truth About Eating Around Worms
Bundled in a snow suit, goggles, face mask, and gloves, I moved awkwardly, careful not to expose any skin. I could feel each breath through the mask. Moisture gathered on the outside and froze, and even behind the goggles, condensation collected at the corners of my eyes until ice formed on my eyelashes.
We weren’t alone. Figures stood scattered across the ice, each beside a small dark opening cut through to the water below. No one spoke. By then, the quiet felt normal to me. So much in the village seemed to pass without needing to be said, and in winter, that familiar quiet settled even deeper. At that temperature, conversation meant exposing skin, wasting heat, admitting weakness to the cold. Everyone moved quietly, efficiently, as if language itself might freeze if used too freely.
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