The morning raising of the bedroom window blind reveals a bright blue pipeline stretching east-west across the backyards of our neighborhood block, turning north at my forsythia bush. I look out the front of the house onto our street and it’s filled with orange trudging men.
It’s raining water and corn snow as I ask one of them if he’s tired, because I know they’ve been at it non-stop.
“Getting there, ya.” but he’s smiling
Some of us gathered a while later to talk with Denis about what it’s been like – how the experience has raised questions about water as a human right (it is); how it should never every become a commodity for sale only to people who can afford it; little we know about the system that brings it to our taps (and want to know more); how good it feels to understand just exactly what 30 litres can do; how this is such a first-world problem but nevertheless bathing in our own homes will feel like heaven…
And then I came to work to write music for Liz’ film and develop my water paintings concept a little further. I didn’t stop on the way to load up with 30 more litres, though I did consider it.
At 7:30 my daughter texted this:
So never mind work. I’m going home to my bathtub and my washing machine now.
Can you hear the angels singing?