Monday, 12 November 2012

A Little Less Sunlight Every Day

We are in a lodge, at the top of the hill, overlooking the water below. The sun rises to the left of our window as we're eating breakfast. It sets to the right, only five hours or so later.

The lodge is used as a retreat for treating alcoholics and addicts, but we're guests here when it's not in constant use. Every morning, Jan or Bernard arrive at 9am with a few of their young clients, eat breakfast, and say goodbye. They go to work. "Work is the best therapy," John Arvid says...

In the afternoon, there are chainsaws outside, cutting down branches. They're installing a satellite dish here (For us? I hope not. I don't think we'll have time to watch tv...)

When the sky is clear, the temperature drops. The mountains in the distance come into view, then they are slowly edged by orange, then purple, then electric blue when the sun fades behind them. The days are so short it seems late at 2pm.

When we get restless in the edit suite, we walk downhill (trying not to slip to our deaths on the black ice), crunching through the snow, and stand at this beach, feeling the cold air in our faces and admiring the view.

This is what we look like basking in the sun at -1Âșc:

And this is what the edit looks like so far:

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