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Jan. 9th, 2007
(no subject)
Jan. 9th, 2007 06:45 pmOMG
DEERSKIN
OMG
*flees to karate, cursing lack of time to tag*
(omg she should talk to Jen only y'know neither of them would talk about what they have in common but OMG)
DEERSKIN
OMG
*flees to karate, cursing lack of time to tag*
(omg she should talk to Jen only y'know neither of them would talk about what they have in common but OMG)
(no subject)
Jan. 9th, 2007 11:42 pmToday's weather was weird in a supremely awesome way. It started getting foggy a little after sunrise -- around 10, in other words. It was also freezing, but that's not so unusual.
Mom's office building downtown faces out on Cook Inlet. You can see cruise ships out there in the summer, and tankers and the like almost year-round. In winter, the water freezes for a good, I don't know, hundred yards out from the shore. As Dad and I drove around Mom's building in the afternoon and came into sight of the inlet, we could see the ice clearly. It's all covered in snow, flat except for the occasional lump of a log, or abandoned rowboat, or some other flotsam.
And at the edge of the ice, the world ended. The fog came up to the edge of the ice and no farther, and it was so thick and the light hit it so that you couldn't see anything else. And from somewhere, though I'm damned if I know where, were clear puffs of smoke or steam. Behind the fog? In front of it? I don't remember, exactly, but they looked like they'd been belched out of some crack in the earth's crust (maybe they were -- it's Alaska, after all) or were rising from fires out of sight.
It looked like nothingness. The delineation between "land" and its end was sharp enough that I thought you could walk off the edge of the ice and just fall, not into water, but into the ether.
It was apocalyptic and wonderful.
About an hour later, Dad and I were driving home with the sun low in the sky to our right. Standing straight up from the horizon was an enormous sundog, clear as anything against the fog.
It was a day designed to be the set for a fantasy movie. I wish I'd gotten pictures.
Mom's office building downtown faces out on Cook Inlet. You can see cruise ships out there in the summer, and tankers and the like almost year-round. In winter, the water freezes for a good, I don't know, hundred yards out from the shore. As Dad and I drove around Mom's building in the afternoon and came into sight of the inlet, we could see the ice clearly. It's all covered in snow, flat except for the occasional lump of a log, or abandoned rowboat, or some other flotsam.
And at the edge of the ice, the world ended. The fog came up to the edge of the ice and no farther, and it was so thick and the light hit it so that you couldn't see anything else. And from somewhere, though I'm damned if I know where, were clear puffs of smoke or steam. Behind the fog? In front of it? I don't remember, exactly, but they looked like they'd been belched out of some crack in the earth's crust (maybe they were -- it's Alaska, after all) or were rising from fires out of sight.
It looked like nothingness. The delineation between "land" and its end was sharp enough that I thought you could walk off the edge of the ice and just fall, not into water, but into the ether.
It was apocalyptic and wonderful.
About an hour later, Dad and I were driving home with the sun low in the sky to our right. Standing straight up from the horizon was an enormous sundog, clear as anything against the fog.
It was a day designed to be the set for a fantasy movie. I wish I'd gotten pictures.
