It is a world of white in Vancouver right now, the snow thick like sugary icing all around. Last night, watching the shadows play across the forest outside our window we saw a flash and then everything went dark as though someone had pulled a universal plug. Everything around us was plunged into darkness and silence - and it was beautiful. The hallways were dark and mysterious, and our apartment glowed with the force of every candle we could find. With a little coaxing, I got Ez on board for a walk in the woods, so we suited up, blew out the candles and ventured out, joining a few handfuls of other hardy souls who decided to use this quiet time to full advantage.
The forest behind us was backlit in a faintly glowing gray that came right out of nature's palette - no artificial lights from Mount Seymour tonight! We trudged our way up through the path that bisects the forest heading north to Mount Seymour and veered off onto the newly revamped Old Goat Trail which snakes its way through the woods towards Old Dollarton. There was not a single footstep along the path and I loved the smooth expanse of white that spread out before us as we bent beneath bows of trees heavy with the day's snow. I loved the sound of our breathing in the dense quiet of the night, the crunch of our feet in the crisp snow as we made our way through this newly foreign landscape. I loved the feeling of Ez's hand in mine and the sound of our laughter being absorbed by the cottony woods as I tried to bend my ever-tightening belly under the bowed branches and snow capped boughs that gracefully crossed our path like sentries at a wondrous gate.
It was a gift, I think, to have had this quiet, beautiful time. Even though these woods are our own, even though I walk them many times a week, tonight they seemed like a new place to be discovered. Our cheeks were glowing in the night, red from the cold that buffed over them as we walked and talked, shared our thoughts about all that awaits us as parents. We talked about how fun it would be as a family to wrap the kids up in all their layers and take them out into this mysterious night, pretending we were deep in the woods of the Yukon, telling stories along the way. These are the nights you remember, not another night in front of the mesmerizing glow of the television.
After an hour of trekking through this quiet paradise, we clambered back through the forest path toward the darkened facade of our building, only a few candlelit eyes peeking out into the darkness. We saw only a handful of people out enjoying the adventure, and I lamented to see so many people still inside, huddled over laptops, playing solitaire and watching movies. "It's gorgeous out here!" I wanted to shout at them, "Come live!" But then again, more quiet night for us.
Ez led us back up the darkened stairwell (so much for emergency lighting) and back into our still warm home, where we re-lit all the candles and settled in. I had made a big pot of French onion soup earlier in the day and I ladled it in heaping, slithery spoonfuls into one of our fondue pots to reheat it. We dug up every candle we had and sat down, talking about things from our childhoods that we've never spoken about; fears that we had of darkened basements, the best games we'd loved as children, the peculiar personalities of the homes in which we'd grown up. We laughed and shared and were in the midst of concocting a windscreen to increase the candle power of the fondue pot when it happened. A jarring whir, bells and whistles, and all the power came back on - fans whirring, the whine of the tv powering up, lights blaring on and disrupting our beautiful peace. Ah, but instead of being disappointed, we simply went around and turned them off, one by one, until we found ourselves again in our blissful, gothic haven. We stared at my belly in the light of a flurry of red candles and watched each tiny ripple and bump of our baby. I can tell you, it was a million times better than any night in front of the tube. Maybe the power will go out again next Sunday? Or better still, maybe we could just choose to pretend it has...
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