I've spent the last two days at the hotel, most of it either working or waiting for the electricity (and water, and heat) to be restored, while trying to keep 355 people, give or take a score of employees, busy and calm. It's been interesting, but less than fun.
This morning I received the reward for my hard work and patience. We drove home through winding grey asphalt tracks flanked by trees turned to sculpture. We braved the wind to listen to the hum of tyres and the crackling and splintering of melting ice sliding off of branches and leaves and needles, and watched splintered diamond light flash and sparkle. And then I got home, laid my things down inside the doorway, and grabbed my camera.
The crashes were more frequent up close and with the sun higher in the sky. I resisted touching until I had snapped my last shot, and then I put out my hand and brushed over a heavily-laden pine sapling, bent almost double under the weight. Hollow ice needles slid away, stinging my fingers and slipping into my palm to melt reproachfully. I did not touch it again. Let the sunlight and the warmth free the tree; my sympathy lies equally with the shorter-lived ice crystals this morning. I walked back, trying to make sure I would always remember how the trees fade, ghost-grey, smoke grey, into the clouds at the horizon, and how fire and ice combined in loveliness on the morning after the storm. I came back inside to a chat with a friend and an email from another who said he was thinking of me and sent me pictures to remind me how much I admire the way he sees the world, too -- he saw beauty where I would not have thought to look for it.
It's been a good, deeply satisfying morning. I'm on my way to bed -- here's wishing you all an equal share of the love and the joy in my world right now. Take care of yourselves and each other.
This morning I received the reward for my hard work and patience. We drove home through winding grey asphalt tracks flanked by trees turned to sculpture. We braved the wind to listen to the hum of tyres and the crackling and splintering of melting ice sliding off of branches and leaves and needles, and watched splintered diamond light flash and sparkle. And then I got home, laid my things down inside the doorway, and grabbed my camera.
The crashes were more frequent up close and with the sun higher in the sky. I resisted touching until I had snapped my last shot, and then I put out my hand and brushed over a heavily-laden pine sapling, bent almost double under the weight. Hollow ice needles slid away, stinging my fingers and slipping into my palm to melt reproachfully. I did not touch it again. Let the sunlight and the warmth free the tree; my sympathy lies equally with the shorter-lived ice crystals this morning. I walked back, trying to make sure I would always remember how the trees fade, ghost-grey, smoke grey, into the clouds at the horizon, and how fire and ice combined in loveliness on the morning after the storm. I came back inside to a chat with a friend and an email from another who said he was thinking of me and sent me pictures to remind me how much I admire the way he sees the world, too -- he saw beauty where I would not have thought to look for it.
It's been a good, deeply satisfying morning. I'm on my way to bed -- here's wishing you all an equal share of the love and the joy in my world right now. Take care of yourselves and each other.
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