Looking at a Storm
Being a writer is an abyssmally sedentary occupation, so I try to begin each day with some exercise. I've found this is one of the best things, so far, about living in the town of Cold Lake -- taking a walk is so much more interesting than in the city.
For example, this morning my dog, Mystery, and I went for a walk in the provincial campground that borders our subdivision. It's near the end of camping season, so there wasn't much activity.
Except, that is, for the wind soughing through the trees and the waves splashing on the shoreline. This campground is on the edge of the body of water for which our town is named, and the personality of the lake is beginning to impact my daily life.
Before moving here, the advance of rainy weather always troubled me. For one thing, I'm solar powered. When I get exposure to lots of sunshine, I'm happy, energetic, and ready to take on anything. Take away my sunshine, and I wilt.
The other thing about approaching rain that I used to hate is the wind. In a typical city, you can hear the wind whirling around buildings, creating strange noises, and in my case, creating just a general feeling of unsettled-ness.
But out here, on the edge of the wilderness, the wind feels natural. I not only feel it, but I also hear it in the trees. There's something oddly soothing to me about the wind in the trees.
And then there's the waves. They were building some impressive whitecaps this morning, and even beginning to crash a bit on the beach. The build-up to today's expected rain felt right, completely natural.
Which brings to mind what's never far from any of our thoughts these days -- the devastation wreaked in the Gulf States by Hurricane Katrina. That's nature gone on a rampage, and something I wish I never had to hear about ever again. The toll in human suffering, the thought of the lives completely uprooted and forever wounded, is more than I can bear to contemplate for long.
Yet there's a lesson in there for me. My creativity can be a force for inspiration or for destruction, depending on how I use it. I can create images of horror, concentrating on the worst the human nature is capable of. Or I can create images of redemption, showing how Grace is bigger than man's depravity.
Just like the stories from the southern US of people risking their lives, extending themselves beyond what it seems a mere human is capable of just to provide safety and solace to those who've lost everything -- those stories give us hope, give us a sense that life is still worthwhile in spite of nature's capricious destruction.
That's what I want to do with my stories . . . provide inspiration and comfort to those for whom daily life contains more challenge than they want to face. Just like the sight of a butterfly can stop my children's play while they observe the wonder, so I want my stories to give "a pause that refreshes" to those who read.
For example, this morning my dog, Mystery, and I went for a walk in the provincial campground that borders our subdivision. It's near the end of camping season, so there wasn't much activity.
Except, that is, for the wind soughing through the trees and the waves splashing on the shoreline. This campground is on the edge of the body of water for which our town is named, and the personality of the lake is beginning to impact my daily life.
Before moving here, the advance of rainy weather always troubled me. For one thing, I'm solar powered. When I get exposure to lots of sunshine, I'm happy, energetic, and ready to take on anything. Take away my sunshine, and I wilt.
The other thing about approaching rain that I used to hate is the wind. In a typical city, you can hear the wind whirling around buildings, creating strange noises, and in my case, creating just a general feeling of unsettled-ness.
But out here, on the edge of the wilderness, the wind feels natural. I not only feel it, but I also hear it in the trees. There's something oddly soothing to me about the wind in the trees.
And then there's the waves. They were building some impressive whitecaps this morning, and even beginning to crash a bit on the beach. The build-up to today's expected rain felt right, completely natural.
Which brings to mind what's never far from any of our thoughts these days -- the devastation wreaked in the Gulf States by Hurricane Katrina. That's nature gone on a rampage, and something I wish I never had to hear about ever again. The toll in human suffering, the thought of the lives completely uprooted and forever wounded, is more than I can bear to contemplate for long.
Yet there's a lesson in there for me. My creativity can be a force for inspiration or for destruction, depending on how I use it. I can create images of horror, concentrating on the worst the human nature is capable of. Or I can create images of redemption, showing how Grace is bigger than man's depravity.
Just like the stories from the southern US of people risking their lives, extending themselves beyond what it seems a mere human is capable of just to provide safety and solace to those who've lost everything -- those stories give us hope, give us a sense that life is still worthwhile in spite of nature's capricious destruction.
That's what I want to do with my stories . . . provide inspiration and comfort to those for whom daily life contains more challenge than they want to face. Just like the sight of a butterfly can stop my children's play while they observe the wonder, so I want my stories to give "a pause that refreshes" to those who read.
posted by Janelle Clare Schneider @ 9:37 AM
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