The third storm was by far the most plentiful, turning even an unassuming tangle of arroyo weeds into something enthralling. Familiar outlines of the mountains went missing in the fog alongside references to many smaller landmarks.
I wanted nothing more than to lay the first set of tracks in the field behind the courthouse, but hesitated remembering how many burrows there were and how unfortunate it would be to step directly into one. It turned out the den entrances were more pronounced than ever—as was my satisfaction at kicking up an untouched layer of snowflakes.
Snow day shots of the studio, outside and in.
