I have just returned from a 3000-mile van trip. The furthest point south, Santa Fe. I delayed leaving for a chance to photograph ice at Grant Creek. Macro photography of ice is a winter passion for me, and Grant Creek – the way she meanders, her colors, her rocky bottom, the way the slanting sun hits her – is my favorite place to go. It was a cold, blue sky morning and there was a bit of snow from the day before. Nighttime temperatures were down to 10 degrees, so there was a good chance I would have ice along the edge of the creek. 
 
On average, over the last ten years, I’ve been lucky to have 10 ice photo days each winter. This winter, not one day, and not that morning either. The ice was flimsy, the water flow too low, the rocks were covered with algae. I carried my disappointment south and it seemed that nowhere had a real winter and the passes along the continental divide had little snow, even in shade. 
 
I wondered – what if those perfect conditions never come again? I realized, then, across all those miles, that what used to be is gone forever. I stay with this, the way it is, tenderly, in love and light…