In the morning, I walk to Falls Creek. Standing on the bridge, the stillness is profound, broken only by the creek's whispering as it rushes toward the falls into the Wrangell Narrows.
Flossy breads herself in snow. She is impervious to the cold with her double coat of fur.
|'South Mitkof' procion dye on cotton with machine stitching, textile paint and beads|
|detail - work in progress|