Icicle | Twisp, WA | 2008

Fingers white with cold, breath freezing in my nostrils, roof-melt dripping into six-foot ice horns. Morning at 10 below is like a double image offset a few millimeters from the real world — nothing is quite as it looks. Even deer are confused. Apples they’ve pulled off the old tree are hard as river rocks, branches crack like gunshots.