On Ice

I don’t suppose it’s exactly a mundane day. It is 7 degrees below freezing, and raining copiously. It should be snow; instead, my windshield glazed over three times on the way to an appointment, and I was 20 minutes late.

Most unusual.

I wonder if branches will break from the ice.  I wonder if the drive home will be wretched for my husband. I wonder if the children will stop fighting. I wonder if I should go back to bed, because my head is pounding.

They say stillness is good for the soul; it mostly drives me crazy.

More than ever, over the last year, I have been faced with how the world turns onward, with or without my notice. It’s the most frightening feeling ever. The seasons arrive and vanish, people die, friends’ children grow, events happen. And you either jump in and seize a few threads of moment or you simply miss it. Like being on the other side of a wall from the entire planet.

In that, the future offers no hope, really. The digital world is not an effective substitute. It has no day or night; it’s always on. It has no faces or voices. Or, when it does, they are subject to pixelation and digital static, formed into the image of their transmitter rather than their Maker. The future – the digital future – is one of cattle and corrals, ear tags and tracking markers. One doesn’t even feel the turning of day and night. Just an ongoing mechanical disquiet.

So, forgive me for the mundane. I am looking for roots, thawing out my spirit after an extended sleep. It feels a bit like rain in the wrong season; liable to make one slip, no use with this frozen ground. Right now, this kind of writing feels like the noise of an orchestra preparing to rehearse; chaotic, without melody, not entirely untuned, but certainly no miniature opus of any kind.

However, I will warm up again.