The quiet. The empty. The monochome. The simplicity. The bitter...bone-chilling cold.
All I could think as I traversed the wind-blown landscape - is that it's beautiful in its bare nakedness. That it's warm in it's frigidity. That it's familiar in an inexplicably new way.
This is the winter I knew and loved. This is the winter of childhood. This is the winter of today.
So many days I wonder about re-turning and re-visiting and beginning again. So much has changed...and - yet - it's all so much the same.
What does it mean to connect - to the ground...to the sky...to those unspoken places and spaces that reside deep inside?
Wherever I go...here I am. And - wherever I am...I'm home.