I approached the bridge from a distance, angling along the stream, (careful not to fall in!), experimenting with different compositions, admiring the reflections, the snow, the bridge.
It was late, and cold, and darkening quickly. February in New England is at once beautiful and arduous, and I was beginning to think of a hot cup of tea.
“Winter makes a bridge between one year and another and, in this case, one century and the next.” Andy Goldsworthy