These photos aren’t mine. I’m grumpy and confined to quarters again with a hacking cough and a paranoid fear of pneumonia. It’s J who gets to roam around, sampling -13°, a temperature colder than we’ve felt here before. He walks through Morskie Oko and by the river, and comes home with eye-water frozen to his cheek. We talk to the man who collects our rent, a weather forecaster, who tells us that the Narew, a river smaller than the Wisła, is already iced over in the north-east of Poland. The Wisła only has floes, floating at speed and singing their ice-song.
This is a collage that turns into a slide show when you click on a photo.