Wednesday, July 22, 2020

The Writers' Circle

Our writers' circle meetings are now virtual or socially distanced. This month's excercise was to write a piece based on a horoscope - I chose this one, and seemed to have got carried away with using the dash:


Strong cosmic forces could sweep you off your feet this week. Whether that feels euphoric or dangerous or even both, you need to find a way to steady yourself. Meeting what happens in a grounded way means that you retain your earthy practicality. Even if your spirit wants to fly.

The wind was so strong! Who knew how much damage could happen in such a short time – and with nothing more than dust. I daren’t go out to change the sun filter – I’d end up sliced and diced in no time. But the views! Looking out of the 10cm thick viewing port, the swirling of the red dust was just spectacular – the landscape changing every moment. I wanted to be in it – to feel the wind pushing and tugging – but it would be suicide. These suits – good, but not that good. And as for my weight – on this planet? Oh boy, not only would I be torn to shreds, but I’d be up and away like a child’s lost kite.

But it was beautiful. It was tempting. It was gorgeously dangerous! I heard a grunt from behind me and my colleague muttered something inaudible and irritating. If only he could see what I see when I watch the winds, the dust, the amazing red murmurations that pattern this strange sky. But he just wants to do the next experiment, analyse the next bit of dirt, and test for this, that and the other.

Oh I know I have work to do, but I can’t pull away from the viewing port – not with this spectacular show outside. Deadly, delightful. The view now so clouded with dust that I can almost see the very particles as they spin at the mercy of this unimaginable force of wind. And then a window through the dense redness – the comms station – destroyed. It was designed to withstand anything this planet could throw at it – but nothing prepared us for the wind. I turned briefly to tell my colleague, but he was at the com desk – I guess he knew by now that the com wasn’t working, but he probably didn’t know why like I did.

It’s mesmerising. Even as it’s destroying our most important resources, I can’t tear my eyes away from it. And the weird thing is there is no noise. This supposedly indestructible bubble that keeps us alive shuts out the sound. But I can still see – and imagine the shredding noise as the skin of our home is slowly ripped and torn and turned into more shards so that it can fly like the red dust.
I think carefully whilst watching. This is probably critical for us, probably the last straw. There have been so many problems, so many challenges, but this unexpected wind storm and it’s destructive force – well, it’s likely to be the end of our occupation here in a reasonably short time. I feel distanced from the emotions I know I should be feeling. The view is too compelling. The storm has moved and I can now see the clouds of dust dancing in the sky further from us – and it’s taunting, hesitating as it moves around the landscape and hints, merely hints, that it will come back and finish us off.

A tap on my shoulder, but I can’t turn, I just answer with a vague noise of enquiry. But I know we have to do something. I tear myself away from the view port and see his anxious face. I tell him about the Comm tower. I turn back to the view port briefly – the clouds and dust and wind are disappearing from view. We need to plan. It’s a very long way home.

Mars photo courtesey of phys.org

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