Even in Paris winter is starting now. People are wrapped in fluffy scrafs and coats and you can buy knitted clothes everywhere.
I prefer winter over all the other seasons right now, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape, the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show yet, but there is a promise somewhere.
I can't wait to see my breath raising in little white clouds in front of me or living on hot tea with indian flavours.
Go scating on ice some place near and discover new winter soundtracks and books.
Somebody once told me
"The colour of springtime is in the flowers, the colour of winter is in the imagination."
and she is right.
photography by Corinna Kern