Blasting in Progress

For a minute, the road was closed off by men in hi-vis jackets and big boots. No one was allowed through. A siren sounded, first twice, then three times, then there was a deep and rumbling bang which startled my core. After one final long siren, we were clear to go. It was only a small building site, and the effects of the blast couldn't be seen, hidden in some drain pipe I suspect.

This blasting, for the passer-by it's more than just a sound. One particular memory I have is hearing snow-cannons blasting drifts in the Alps, about 5am before we would normally wake. It was deep and base enough to shake the chalet timber, and it surprised me then how–even though quite innocent–to the untrained and unsuspecting being it is so frightening.

I can't imagine how it must feel to live with this all the time in hostility. The soul must find itself startled out of all grasp on peace. Either that, or you become especially skilled in achieving peace in the thick of chaos. Either that, or you become so hard-hearted you stop noticing.

Learning how to be at peace while sitting on piles of rubble is a rich lesson.


{Today's soundtrack: birdsong}