Grasses glazed with frost, cheesewheel moon perched high on sailing clouds, and winter descends softly over the quiet town of montgomery, new jersey. in the i night i walk out with only a flashlight and a camera to lance away the dark. in the spaces between where dead oaks clawed out like the fingers of skeletons ressurected in the moonlight for the stars. the shiver of beetles glossed in midwinter frost. on the rarest nights foxes would float between the shadows of the woods and with a careful eye you could catch the flame of their bodies as they melted between worlds, as they froze and blinked back at you, into the waters of your soul. other nights phantom birds wheeled above the chimneys in arcs of silver, shards of moon footloose in the wind. once near the end of october i watched a whole herd of deer flow down the street and away into the gloom like a river outpouring, liquid and vague, the vein of something vast, dreaming. my vantage though was always the same: the forest to my left; the neighborhood to my right.