It’s a bit past seven when the power goes out. On our street all the houses look back at me with pitch black windows. I pour my freshly made coffee into a thermos, light candles and grab my lantern. Good, it was charged. I take the opportunity to read a new book that came the other day. I follow the illustrator Júlia on instagram and the cover, as well as every single page, is beautiful. Even more so in candle light.
I actually just ordered this print from her website, from another book she illustrated:
As I sit in silence I realise how happy I am that the power is gone. A part of me doesn’t want to look up what caused it or when it might be back. It’s so quiet. There’s no hum of the refrigerator or downstairs freezer. I can’t watch the news and I shouldn’t be on my phone too much, don’t want to drain the battery in case this lasts a while. I am not worried in the slightest. We have plenty of candles, and I have means to cook with our outdoor stove or over fire.
I sit and read, and an hour later the lights flicker back on, machines beep and that constant hum that has become the soundtrack of our lives is back. I sigh. I wish the power would have been off for longer. Makes me wonder. Does my soul belong in this modern world?
I don’t think so.