the mountain of ice, and the sea of sound.

The sun reigns king in the morning, but falls to the snow. A coup. Small flakes, that drift in and out of vision, and spray the window. I look out through the glass, iced with frost, and imagine that each of the flakes are small birds. Old women with wings, whose noses and clothes make them appear birdlike in their unraveling. The queens of a gray sky, on another cold day. I split wood and carry the smaller pieces. I shovel the drive. Feel the ice in my frozen beard. Tonight on CBC {the Canadian equivalent of NPR} k and I heard a man interviewed who lives in Fairbanks, Alaska, who has built, what by any definition would be an amazingly interesting, ableit insane?, brilliant, ice sculpture.

While difficult to explain, he has dug a hole in the ground where a well exists, into which he has sunk a telephone pole. On the top of said telephone pole, he has installed a sprinkler, which connects to the well at the bottom. He runs this sprinkler 24 hours a day, and the spraying water, immediately turns to ice. Each week, he, or someone else, climbs to the top of this ice mountain, and extends the sprinkler higher. At this point, the mountain of ice is 151 feet high; or fifteen stories, and last week he had to put homing lights on top, for the airplanes. Imagine that: "plane crashes into homemade mountain of ice." I suggest that you have a look.

One way I suppose, to embrace this seemingly endless winter.

Why I’m writing about this instead of the piece I heard on the radio the other night about Eric Satie and the rise of modern ambient music, including Stephen Reich and Brian Eno, is beyond me. I guess the diversion is meaningful. The music though, something I am tumbling further and further into. A sea of sound. A worthy read as well, likely moreso for those who don’t need to be reminded that this frozen world is still valid. Ice, endless ice.

Posted by jeff pitcher at March 10, 2005 10:16 AM

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