Day seven, frozen pipes I’ve had sleepovers in three different friend’s houses now, and one at my studio. The houses I’ve stayed at in town play constant musical obsessive repetitive drips in counterpoint to their ticking analogue clocks. Our entire small city shares the consequences of too-shallow water mains and fast-creeping frost. We are either frozen here, or dripping – the latter by decree. Idly, I wonder if we are beginning to live the consequences of climate change…. Weather forecasts predict that spring thaw – the deep thaw that will reach our pipes – is still weeks away. The arctic blast that has swung low and stayed over central Canada still snarls through woolens, through layers through mitts and toques – our shoulders are hunched at our necks, our jaws set as we continue to trudge, to shovel to scrape. We stay inside mostly. Made into introverts by this enduring, deep cold, we whisper in the slow slow approach of Spring, 2015.