I am looking at the winter this year as one of creativity. The numerous snow storms have filled my lens with so many opportunities. A new camera lens that captures the breathe of the snow and the whispers of the ice. Many things have come to fruition through the camera. The eyes of artists see the world in moments. Moments that make the unordinary, spectacular. This is the metal fob on a light that my father took out of an old school in the town I was born it. It is brass and beautiful. My father cherished it. He taught me to harvest left over things, like gold. I can remember a cruel girl telling me my father was a dumpster diver. I remember the hot shame on my face. The feeling of being less than, for a creative holistic life in a small town. A resource town full of resourceful people. I was so rich in experiences that I was blind to then. My father was a dreamer and an inventor and a recycler before it was chic. I am my fathers daughter. My father gave me this light shortly before he passed. One for me and one for my sister. The longing for the ornate light replaced by a longing for his wisdom and his messenger messages, popping up all day when he embraced learning how to use a computer. I remember thinking dad I have work to do, stop the 100 pop ups. Now I look through my lens at the light, the delicate peach glass shades covered in snow. I wonder why I did not remove them for the winter. The are fragile, yet have survived over 100 years of wear. Testing our fragility is strength. And the strength to know that nothing lasts forever. Not winter, not mourning and spring is always just under the snow.