" The look of the trees on windy days moves me to the limit of what is bearable. In the reverse of memory I found a lush rainbow of freshness, of excitement. It is time to say goodbye to musty aphorisms and welcome the arrival of spring, free of perky noses. There are smells that are hopes and corn fields alike to beaches covered with beautiful virgins. I wore pink gloves to dispose of the waste of thunder and became a friend of the street stones with the same fury as when we undress before a secret meeting. "
" Intensely cold weather in January-February 2013 saw the lake near my new home frozen over and tecked with a layer of snow. Lines were tracked by the feet of many walkers, crisscrossed by the double-lines of cross-country ski runners and flecked with the brown-blue hues of many a patient hour spent by ice-fishermen.
In a similar way to time spent in the muted colours of New Zealand's Central Otago plains, here, too I noticed that it is in the near-examination of the apparently mundane that myriad colours and textures are revealed. In this frozen landscape one can assume that each snow-crystal is unique... I continue my walk, sometimes following the fox who sniffs out signs of spring, othertimes tracking my own way, content to hear the crunch of the ice beneath my feet. "