To the Ice's Edge

Lines today were more deliberate though the deep snow (largest in a decade in 24 hours).  I drew the lines from the fence straight to the water's edge, over the ice hills, till it dropped off where the broken ice might have water underneath.  At the edge I stepped into a small crevasse, and broke the stick in two.

I'm not sure how these more difficult line drawing conditions help or hinder the process of memorializing the widows.  I struggle more, but I also think more about the safety, the patterns, the counting and less about the widows and there struggle.  It's a mixed bag metaphorically and artistically.  But I have to try different thing to avoid it being stale and predictable - unless stale and predictable is the point: another day, another 10,000 widows.