
We're hunkered down at our flea market table with a fire in the fireplace, our Coleman lantern blazing and mariachi tunes leaking from our hand crank radio. We're playing board games and reading books and talking while the storm rages outside. The air is ripe with the smell of skunk and sodden earth. It reminds me of my early days in the desert without electricity, an earthy life powered by relationships and hardships and connection to the physical world.
Now in Santa Cruz the power suddenly comes on. The magic is gone. Roads will open. People will cut up downed trees, TVs will go on. We'll all go to our separate rooms.
No comments:
Post a Comment