Gifts of a winter storm

I love the icy breeze against my face walking, through the window now where I sit. In a zone, in love with chunks of time and the clouded sky. It’s not about the weather any more. There’s fact and adverse reality and cleanup, to be sure. Weeks and weeks for recovery. But life is resilient and it’s not like we live in a place defenseless: there’s infrastructure here, and laws and contracts, and running water. As a child, I lived in a birthplace for hurricanes and typhoons; we’d hunker down for a week, ration the outdoor water so it could last for two, boil it for drinking if need be. I don’t see that behavior here in this last-minute society with its just-in-time shopping for food, batteries, upset at having to wait in queue.

But time is bracketed in a storm. Nature’s way of giving us pause. I listened to the silence, the rain and wind, dancing to the falling leaves and debris of time. The stacked entertainments lay untouched: books, movies and such. These dips and pools of time are hard to resist. The sky’s still fully clouded but the air is clear and…something inside me is open and freed.

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~ by Shirley Kwan on October 30, 2012.

One Response to “Gifts of a winter storm”

  1. “Writing is a struggle against silence,” says Carlos Fuentes, courtesy of WordPress–probably matched against my tags. I would add that sometimes, writing is a response to silence. Truth can be multi-faceted. Life is the sum of its inconsistencies.

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