The water in this stream moves fast. But it’s been COLD and here are these shards – caught and frozen on the periphery of anything solid. Such detail.

This sense of cold, cold winter brought to mind a conversation I had years ago when I was living in Seattle. Seattle, where it might rain more – perhaps – at one time of year more than another. But for demarcation of seasons? Not what I was accustomed to after living in Vermont.

So I had this sense of time standing still. No fall, winter and spring as I had known those seasons. A little wetter. A little colder… perhaps.

A friend of mine followed me. Moved to Seattle after living in Boston. He liked it but his comment was: he missed the “kitchen conversations”. What he meant was that when it’s really cold outside, as in New England, people tend to gather around warm food. And where it’s cooking.

Warmth. Soup. Talk.

It’s definitely that time of year now. Soup time. Time to be seeking wamth.

And that also, indirectly, might be why I find New England good for my art. I need to come inside. And inside: I need to do my art.

Along with those great times in the kitchen. Enjoying people. And soup.