On Freezing Weather and the Beauty Which Lies in Morbidity
Posted by Layla Winterborne on Tuesday, 5 January, 2010 @ 8:31 pm
The nights are getting colder here…the moon a bright orb in the clear sky and for a moment, just one moment, I wish that I could pull the breaker which powers the neon glow which seems ever-present in this city. Just for 5 minutes would I love to see the stars.
One of the trending topics amongst Houston’s Twitter users is the fact that starting tomorrow, we are going to be experiencing temperatures that are lower than most points in Antarctica. While I’m sure that this isn’t as foreboding as it sounds, social media and news media are buzzing with the thought, posting tips on how to stay warm and emergency hotlines just in case your pipes freeze within the walls. I’m also sure that if I stand outside and listen hard enough, I can hear the conservatives shouting out “SEE??? WE TOLD YOU GLOBAL WARMING WAS A LIE!” As it was when Obama was announced President, it is the end of the world once more here in Texas. I’m half expecting the heralders to appear once more, shouting fire and brimstone from the corners of busy intersections. It is only in times such as these that wealthy Christian business men in designer suits can band together with the vagabonds of the city and preach, in unison, of the impending doom which is upon the sinners of the world. The lamb hath been slain and the seven angels shall arrive on winged horses to deliver the righteous and to punish the damned.
When it comes right down to it, however, the cold weather, for me, basically means that I will be working from home for the next few days, at least until we reach a temperature in which the steam from my breath won’t instantly freeze to the faceplate of my helmet. I can only imagine the hilarity and possible dismemberment of appendages that would ensue from being briefly blinded by my frozen breath.
I can only imagine though, that if an accident such as this were to happen, it would be beautiful in the sense that the last thing I would see before potentially blacking out would be the individual ice patterns which laced their way across my vision. Each uniquely and exquisitely formed, visions of lace in ice and I can only imagine that I would be reminded of some mythical Christmas morning which I only ever experienced in dreams. The smell of gingerbread lingering in the morning air from the cookies which we made the night before. Crisp logs crackling and popping in the fireplace, the smoke rising and curling, lovingly caressing and whispering with wispy fingers the other puffs which escaped from neighboring fireplaces. A vision of mother and father, daughter and son, sitting around a lavishly decorated tree, opening and reveling in the gifts in which Santa slyly left beneath the tree…
In a scene such as this, the morbidity of death and accidents dissipates and dissolves into something which could be…quite beautiful.
