A lone lantern flickers against the frost, its small flame holding out against a moonlit winter. A quiet echo of the cold nights that nearly ended the Revolution.
Burns has a way of returning us to the frost—
to the nights when the Revolution survived on breath and bone alone.
It’s striking how close it all came to failure,
not in the battles we remember,
but in the winters we forget.
A new story begins next week,
set in the long cold of 1777.
#NotesOfPaine
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