Winter is only just upon us here in New Zealand and already I have cabin fever. Not the kind that I have experienced during past winters in New York when I was snug inside my little cabin in the woods with the great love of my life. No. That's a different kind of fever. The kind I have today makes even cinnamon chasers grumpy! The guest list is long and growing longer. It began as frost and ice. Then came sleet, hail, snow flurries, snow, blizzards. And then a newcomer to my winter guest list here in New Zealand. Freezing fog. Freezing fog? To the uninitiated (as I was barely five minutes ago) this is a phenomenon seemingly associated with the nearness of bodies of water such as rivers or lakes. Well that may be but to me frozen fog sounds more like a summer desert I might lick from the back of a spoon whilst reclining in the adirondack chair I painted so carefully last year. The chair that sits waiting patiently for me on the deck of my cabin in the American woods. The chair that went through a whole winter without me and might even have a dragonfly or two sitting on it as I write this, and a hummingbird hovering overhead. Waiting. Waiting.