Photos from our Christmas day in Hakone; Hannah walking out into the open air sculpture museum, glazed pre-coffee eyes, a family of puffer jackets, and a magic black egg cooked that adds seven years to your life. The winters here are just shadow, another shadow, another shadow. The kind of shadows that stretch out, obfuscating any sense of time. Everything is always beginning; it’s a whole season of extended invigorating mornings that only pass into afternoons as it begins to get dark. A pleasing season. I knew a old Russian man in New Zealand. He told stories about working on a mine in Siberia and being so cold his eye’s would start to freeze. Each small detail and sensation was over explained; trying to fully invoke any residual sensations. But any invocation is illusory, it is impossible to simulate the full gamut of stuff going on when you are really cold and outside and alive.