Dark

Last year at this time Momma Earth sent her Commuter train charging up the valley. This year it was an Express thundering through . And we were four days without power. I made a patch and sewed it to my winter hat. FOUR. Next year maybe FIVE or SIX. As she sends her bigger faster trains our way.

There were snapped lines laying open and gnarled. Telephone poles hanging halfway down...limp. Trees resting on electric lines suspended over the road. We held our breath every time we drove underneath, ducking our heads as if that might help.

Mother Nature is pissed. And we're not listening.

She gave us a message in whipped up root balls and ripped off roofs.

We moved all the refrigerated items outside.
Lit a fire.
Flushed toilets with pond water.
Found headlamps.
Boiled water to wash dishes.
Ate on paper.
Lit candles.
Played games.
Read books.
Slowed down.
Stayed close.
By the fire.
Treated each other nicely.
Until a broken bone ended all the fun. (I'll extrapolate later)

And then the lights came on. The lines are repaired. And life races again. And lights are left on in rooms we aren't even in anymore. The dishwasher runs. The candles are blown out. And somehow I am sad. The darkness feels like deep snow. All quiet and encompassing. And I wish we could live like that. Like our friends Caitlin and Miles, who live in the woods, and go to sleep when the sun sets, and wake up when it rises. I wish the power wasn't so needed, or rather doesn't seem so necessary.