Tarraleah in Winter

The wind sprung up suddenly, as if powered by a switch. The apartment lights dimmed and faded to darkness. I glanced at the clock. It was just before five. Despite the early hour winter's gloom descended like a shroud covering the room. Emergency lighting illuminated only a tiny circle of the ceiling above the door.
No sense of urgency yet. Surely, it was just a tripped fuse. Gianluca snuggled in to his blanket, oblivious to the scene unfolding across the village.
Small, red flames flickered in the firebox stationed in the centre of the lounge room. I shivered. Unvoiced thoughts considered the possibility of a long afternoon without power. The infant wrapped in his blanket was now totally reliant on that firebox for an unknown period of time.
I gathered firewood methodically from the stack, outside the front doors. Two, huge piles of the sweet, raw timber soon lined either side of the hearth. A type of insurance before darkness fell completely. At the very least if the blackout persisted a well stoked fire would ensure some degree of warmth.
Kirstie showered and dressed knowing well the challenges of running a restaurant without power. It was to be a special night where some guests had scheduled birthday celebrations whilst others booked and determined to enjoy the beginning of a long weekend.
Hasty conversations with Kirstie suggested that the emergency lighting had recently been serviced so three hours should have been sufficient for linesmen intervention and the village to be rebooted. Despite that assurance I had an overwhelming sense of foreboding and nodded my understanding trying to ignore my misgivings. 
Wrapped in a blue duffel, coat she bade farewell. She was going to see what she could do to help out in the restaurant. 
The absence of power made restaurant service especially interesting. Gas stoves supported food preparation. Chef had donned his headlamp. He resembled a miner from years gone by. The image jarred for it made no sense. What an unusual figure he presented dressed in his apron, long black pants, the whitest of coats and his headlamp. Comical, but obviously professional; Michael, not daunted to cook for thirty plus guests by lamplight and emergency lighting.
Candles dotted the restaurant. An atmosphere most pleasing to the guests who'd assembled prior to dinner. Warming themselves by the log fire with glasses of wine in hand they shared convivial banter unperturbed by the blackout.
Back in the apartment the wind seemed to be blowing more vigorously. Perhaps it was just my imagination? Somewhere a draft delivered cold blasts of air to the feet. Sadly, insufficient light to fully explore likely entry points. Certainly, the cold fingers of wind stretching for my feet demanded my attention. Surely the French doors to the balcony were the culprit for the room was cooler by their junction with the floor.
Large, beige cushions festooned the lounge. not seeking or awaiting approval they were plucked and jammed at the foot of the framed doors hopefully thwarting the icy claws persisting against their fibre.
The infant wrapped and snuggled for now would have needs later that would require forethought and planning, should the power not arrive on this coldest of nights.
A kitchen bench doubled as a change table for it was closest to the small glimmer of emergency lighting. Nappies and wipes sorted. The ingenious new, bottle-like feeding bag superior to other types but tricky to assemble in the poor light.
Only one candle graced the apartment so best not to light that until absolutely necessary. Fortunately, I made a call close to the three hour mark and lit the candle. A candle designed more for its fragrant properties rather than emergency lighting. Shadows cast by the firelight danced eerily on the walls as the tiny circle of overhead light vanished.
Sometime later, the front doors signalled Kirstie's return with my dinner. Her arrival warned of snow flurries. Snow flurries excited me rather than concerned me and for a short time I forgot my earlier misgivings.
In the candlelight I ate a delicious dinner of salmon and ratatouille. A welcome diversion. Dim lighting made for a romantic dinner for one. I was pleased that my mood and spirits had lifted despite the wind whipping gusts of freezing air at the windows.
Gianluca slept on, unaware of the snow outside. This was his first winter and his first snow experience. At seven weeks too young to appreciate the magic unfolding outside.
Quietly, sitting alone by the fire, I willed it to still be snowing when we woke tomorrow. Outside it was blacker than black making the snow flurries invisible except to the touch. Skin noted the silent flakes as they drifted on the wind.
Time for bed. Ipad screen the only lighting source back to my room. The old school's corridor in the scholar's loft apartments seemed longer than usual and strange in

the blackness. Key entry most difficult in the dark. Sense of touch as my fingers sought the lock's metal jaws. Its form unrecognisable; just memory guiding its passage to gain access.
Success. The key turned confidently in its cylinder.
Memory suggested a few steps to the staircase. Tentative, blind sweeps with my out stretched arm located the handrail to my bedroom upstairs. A smooth handrail gripped in one hand and on the other a finger poised on a small white screen directed each footfall. The last steps rushed as my foot located the bed's quilt. That huge bed calling the evening's slumber. A slumber in deep folds of warmth beckoned.
A slumber that was soon interrupted, for a storm that had been developing for hours brought thunder, more wind and snow. Thunder rumbled deeply from the mountains surrounding the village and travelled in shock waves in and about every building. Wind lashed the conifers. I peered through the glass, straining to see and trusting Mother Nature to vent this night. I urged thoughts of sleep, to drown out the ever present gale circling the village.
Not to be disappointed I awoke to a gentle rapping on my door. I had finally slept soundly and comfortably for several hours beneath the warmest bed linen for the room's electric heater no hero in a blackout.
What to wear? Every layer of clothing for my bed linen was abandoned for the day's activities.
No power yet. A persistent blackout indeed. Morning shower none. Coffee desired but that morning ritual required some minor changes. A saucepan filled and installed on the hearth for the sole purpose for delivering steaming water for that morning moment and the aroma of fresh coffee.
A watched pot never boils so I had time to survey the grounds and the results of the night's storm. Little snow remained on the ground. Snowy footprints marked my steps from the apartment to the fence line. Fascinated to see those shapes had harshly ground the gentle flakes beneath the soles of my shoes. I wondered how long they'd remain telling others that I had ventured beyond the apartment's doors. Totally unaware of the momentary reprieve and the impending snow showers that were to be chased by blue skies throughout the morning into the afternoon.
Picturesque vistas towards scholars and the camping area awed my vision.Trees robust in every limb revealed dusting's of powdery snow. Unconcerned trees that had weathered harsher winters than this provided a modicum of shelter from snow now falling. This snow was different for its determined efforts to claw back the white blanket. A blanket that looked at risk of melting a few, brief moments ago.
Rapid changes in the sky hurled large flakes down to the earth where I stood watching. No longer gentle Mother Nature marked the occasion with sustained snow showers topping roofs, pathways and even fountains with its freezing breath. Buildings and distant cottages appeared to delight in the snowy brilliance.
A vengeful dusting obliterated my earlier footsteps. Had I inadvertently angered Mother Nature? Once more the snow boasted a perfect unscathed carpet. Its soft powder not revealing early morning trekkers. Pristine once again.