I’ve been suffering for my art this weekend. Out and about in the bitter cold, my hands both numb yet excruciatingly painful as I paw at my camera. As I stared through my lens at the enchanting ice crystal fingers overwhelming all around me, I began to feel a certain affinity with them.
As the crisp, winter’s sun turned to clear, cold night I looked up at the sparkling stars. I began to ponder the big questions. What’s the meaning of life? Is there life after death? Will I freeze to death and find out? Like a deranged crewman of Scott of the Antarctic I found my mind wandering. I recalled a famous excerpt from a poem by John Magee: Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
Not sure he’d enjoy that, frozen hands and all.