This morning I woke to a white velvet wonderland of snow in the wood. It had been snowing yesterday, but today it had completely made a new and beautiful frozen quiet landscape. For all of Caravanland’s drab and motley appearance, it too had somehow been transformed. No longer did it seem so beleaguered by its own baggage. Nature had conjured its own elemental magic. Somehow I became sympathetic to this family of caravans, the myriad stories in the surrounding human artifacts and its life. The white had somehow punctured the greyness. Encircled by a celebratory patchwork of nodding and silent brown limbs with arms thickly caked in white frosting, they seemed to act as a lilypure garland sanctifying Caravanland as a precious piece of witchery in its own mysterious ecology. In this moment I was warmed to know it and acknowledge its community of beholden strange species.