Hacking

It's quite possible that it was a reaction to a late afternoon meeting with a highly unpleasantly misogynistic man which spurred on my eager early evening three hour binge of hacking away 7 inches of solid ice that constituted the chalet drive way. With a newly established wave of determination fuelled by consistent frustration of continuously having to keep my mouth shut in this predominantly male induced work world, whereby the boys do blue jobs and the girls; well of course, of course : we do the pink.

But a ha! Pas ce soir!

I launched down there on my hands + knees, miniscule joke of a pick axe in hand, solid sturdy boots on my feet [Papa would be so content with this knowledge] + got down to hacking business. As darkness enveloped its way around me and my tools, it fleetingly occurred to me that I might stop- but just as another chunk of hard earned rock like frost alleviated itself from its core rink, satisfying motivation spurred me on. And with each savage swing I thrust + thumped + plumped upon the innocently lethal layers of irresponsible ice, the days frustration of cleaning + cleansing : grinning + baring soon dissolved into a distorted distant moment of self-doubt, and as always after a few moments of purring up at the disappearing pink mountains, a surge of contended remembrance alerted itself to me and inspired me to hang up the axe for the day and go inside for a hug.