Here in the winter of settler culture, the cold people, aka lichens, are in bloom. This is their time of glory, when the sun is warm in the thin surface layer above the stone.
Notice how the grasses are catching a touch of hoar frost, high up in the wind. Those wind people must wait for summer for growth. The warm earth is holding them against the great, cold darkness, but they’re sly. They hold up rakes and comb water out of the air. They’re not sleeping. They’re just getting ready: not combing their hair but combing the water that the sun bears through the cold sky. There are technologies here for the developing, for any culture not fixated on doodads.