Irreversible
Sunday, October 31, 2010 3:04 PM
It started out so warm, the fire crackling gently as it nested on the firewood, burning slowly. The fire wasn't fierce or mild. It was contained almost willingly by its fireplace, a familiar setting and a comfortable home. I slid the sliding doors wide open and took in the cold air. It made my nostrils tingle and excitement blossom, and I smiled at the blankets of white snow. The air was still. This was what I had been hoping for - no sign of wind or heavy snow, no artist intruding upon my canvas - the vast sheet of white seemed to belong only to me and the nature that inhabited it. "I'm all done. Let's go!" my father took a final sip from his mug proudly inscribed with the words "World's Greatest Dad", hauled his haversack onto his back and opened the door. He gave me a slight nod and headed out. I followed, my mind intoxicated by excitement.
The forest was more beautiful than I had ever seen before. It wasn't lush green or flowering, but the starkness of pines, firs and spruces against a cloudy grey sky and paper-white ground captivated me. As we hiked through the forest, familiar landmarks seemed to take on a whole new disguise. This forest, one I have visited so many times before, was changing right before me. Religiously, I followed the footsteps of my father, and if I stopped to inspect the footsteps of prowling animals, I knew he was never far ahead as I followed the "cling-clang" of carabiners on his belt sliding against each other. With every step my boots sank deep into the snow, but I did not bother about the exhaustion of hoisting them out. I was so distracted by the beauty I saw in such emptiness, such a pure white hiding all sorts of colourful secrets.
We eventually saw a clearing in the enormous forest and decided to stop for a break. My cold lips were energised by soothing tea as it trickled down my throat and gave me warmth from within. My father began pointing out all the subtle reminders that we weren't alone in this silence. Animal tracks criss-crossed in front of us. "You can tell just by how the impression was made and the shape of the footprint just which animal left it behind. There's a deer... that's a wolverine, and that's probably some sort of rodent." We discussed the wonders of nature and laughed off all our worries in the middle of the clearing, spectators in this documentary brought to life.
Yet, it was the stillness of the air and tracks of fleeing animals that scared me. It resembled an intense prelude to danger that would spectacularly befall the lone family in the forest.
A low grumble hit my ears. Instinctively, I propped my chin up and turned an ear toward the origin of the sound. "What is it?" my father put his flask down and looked around. There it was again, this time more of a rumble, or maybe a distant call of a carnivore that stopped for a snack. The third time, my father straightened up. "Stay here. It could be dangerous. Don't worry about me, i'll be fine." He left before the slightest protest could leave my lips.
I took a sandwich from the haversack and waited for sunset. The changes in the sky were so gradual yet the results so intense and unprecedented. Yellow, red and pink streaked across the sky, over my increasingly worrying mind. I debated following my father, but if he really did meet danger, I knew that he would wish I hadn't. The sky was quickly darkening and yet all that was left of him were his footsteps. I waited for a silhouette to emerge, anything or anyone but this cold, lonely despair. A biting gust of wind that nearly toppled me over triggered an extremely loud rumble that ripped through the air. Desperately I called out, "Dad! Dad, where are you?" I wanted to trust that his wisdom had helped him evade danger, but I couldn't help what might have happened to him if he didn't. With resolution, I ambitiously left all our belongings behind and followed the footsteps, desperately hoping I would hear the "cling-clang" of his carabiners, or see his shadow materialise from behind the snowy dunes.
And I saw it. I saw the massive destruction that buried my father. I saw his limb emerging from under the snow, that pure, innocent white surrounding him - the pure, innocent murder of my father. Ten vertical metres separated me from my unconscious father. He was halfway between me and an enormous cliff face. I tried climbing up the snow, clawing at it, grabbing snow that just slipped out of my hand, all efforts in futility. The cold air that stung my face accentuated my sorrow. Cold tears dripped to make small, round impressions in the snow. And what animal would leave these tracks? An animal that feared loss and an animal that was enraged by regret.
Never again had I set foot in the forest. Bleak, empty white, the snow depressed me. The fire was no longer warm or comforting. It had shown me instead the mercilessness of nature, the uncontrollable desire of flames encroaching upon innocent firewood. As I opened the sliding door and strode onto the balcony, my cheeks flushed and lips dried. I stood in the snow for hours, trying to feel how my father did, trying to relive his last moments, trying desperately to understand that his pain had felt greater than mine.
24\30
Sunday, October 31, 2010 3:04 PM
It started out so warm, the fire crackling gently as it nested on the firewood, burning slowly. The fire wasn't fierce or mild. It was contained almost willingly by its fireplace, a familiar setting and a comfortable home. I slid the sliding doors wide open and took in the cold air. It made my nostrils tingle and excitement blossom, and I smiled at the blankets of white snow. The air was still. This was what I had been hoping for - no sign of wind or heavy snow, no artist intruding upon my canvas - the vast sheet of white seemed to belong only to me and the nature that inhabited it. "I'm all done. Let's go!" my father took a final sip from his mug proudly inscribed with the words "World's Greatest Dad", hauled his haversack onto his back and opened the door. He gave me a slight nod and headed out. I followed, my mind intoxicated by excitement.
The forest was more beautiful than I had ever seen before. It wasn't lush green or flowering, but the starkness of pines, firs and spruces against a cloudy grey sky and paper-white ground captivated me. As we hiked through the forest, familiar landmarks seemed to take on a whole new disguise. This forest, one I have visited so many times before, was changing right before me. Religiously, I followed the footsteps of my father, and if I stopped to inspect the footsteps of prowling animals, I knew he was never far ahead as I followed the "cling-clang" of carabiners on his belt sliding against each other. With every step my boots sank deep into the snow, but I did not bother about the exhaustion of hoisting them out. I was so distracted by the beauty I saw in such emptiness, such a pure white hiding all sorts of colourful secrets.
We eventually saw a clearing in the enormous forest and decided to stop for a break. My cold lips were energised by soothing tea as it trickled down my throat and gave me warmth from within. My father began pointing out all the subtle reminders that we weren't alone in this silence. Animal tracks criss-crossed in front of us. "You can tell just by how the impression was made and the shape of the footprint just which animal left it behind. There's a deer... that's a wolverine, and that's probably some sort of rodent." We discussed the wonders of nature and laughed off all our worries in the middle of the clearing, spectators in this documentary brought to life.
Yet, it was the stillness of the air and tracks of fleeing animals that scared me. It resembled an intense prelude to danger that would spectacularly befall the lone family in the forest.
A low grumble hit my ears. Instinctively, I propped my chin up and turned an ear toward the origin of the sound. "What is it?" my father put his flask down and looked around. There it was again, this time more of a rumble, or maybe a distant call of a carnivore that stopped for a snack. The third time, my father straightened up. "Stay here. It could be dangerous. Don't worry about me, i'll be fine." He left before the slightest protest could leave my lips.
I took a sandwich from the haversack and waited for sunset. The changes in the sky were so gradual yet the results so intense and unprecedented. Yellow, red and pink streaked across the sky, over my increasingly worrying mind. I debated following my father, but if he really did meet danger, I knew that he would wish I hadn't. The sky was quickly darkening and yet all that was left of him were his footsteps. I waited for a silhouette to emerge, anything or anyone but this cold, lonely despair. A biting gust of wind that nearly toppled me over triggered an extremely loud rumble that ripped through the air. Desperately I called out, "Dad! Dad, where are you?" I wanted to trust that his wisdom had helped him evade danger, but I couldn't help what might have happened to him if he didn't. With resolution, I ambitiously left all our belongings behind and followed the footsteps, desperately hoping I would hear the "cling-clang" of his carabiners, or see his shadow materialise from behind the snowy dunes.
And I saw it. I saw the massive destruction that buried my father. I saw his limb emerging from under the snow, that pure, innocent white surrounding him - the pure, innocent murder of my father. Ten vertical metres separated me from my unconscious father. He was halfway between me and an enormous cliff face. I tried climbing up the snow, clawing at it, grabbing snow that just slipped out of my hand, all efforts in futility. The cold air that stung my face accentuated my sorrow. Cold tears dripped to make small, round impressions in the snow. And what animal would leave these tracks? An animal that feared loss and an animal that was enraged by regret.
Never again had I set foot in the forest. Bleak, empty white, the snow depressed me. The fire was no longer warm or comforting. It had shown me instead the mercilessness of nature, the uncontrollable desire of flames encroaching upon innocent firewood. As I opened the sliding door and strode onto the balcony, my cheeks flushed and lips dried. I stood in the snow for hours, trying to feel how my father did, trying to relive his last moments, trying desperately to understand that his pain had felt greater than mine.
24\30