A caretaker’s log cabin buried to the eaves in the mountains, and the man who keeps it, out in a storm and coming home. Six frames: wind tearing spindrift off the ridge in the last sun with the cabin far below; the man post-holing through snow to his knees; his face, frosted; the whiteout, walking a line of tracks toward the cabin’s lit window; the cabin at dusk, his snowshoes and shovel left in the bank; and the house alone, smoke from the chimney.
The same man, in the same pale oilskin, wool cap and scarf, and the same cabin in every frame he is in or near. Five frames are widescreen, one is a portrait.