Jacob Thomas
When I was a child we'd drive over the ridge on 250 in winter, and the smoke would rise up from all the chimneys on all the houses in all the hollows we'd pass. Often you couldn't make out the home nestled there amongst the trees. But you could see the smoke from the burning logs, heating homes, bringing life.
Freddy Walker is that smoke, diffused and different from the hollows themselves, but eternally of the hollows. The shape of the smoke may be unknown, but the source is certain and unchanging. Calling us home. Summoning us in from the cold.