The setting of the scene is a good example of post postmodernism: This after shoveling a long driveway for thirty bucks. The excercise made me really sore and really sweaty, like a sewer rat. I felt powerfully alive as I saw the wind kick up the top layer of the snow dunes, from behind winter glass:
The Life Force. It blows through the trees, and whips up the snow dust-like. It ricochets through the ages, through Siberia and Assyria, Boston and Normandy. Now I sit in the kitchen, watched the pines sway and I feel it in the lactic acid buildup in my forearms and the soreness of my quadriceps as I breathe in the blue skies: that there is untapped life.
I shiver and get goosebumps from thinking about a woman, who will one day rear my children and show them that there is life to be lived. But even before then when we go to London and Los Angeles and feel the warm sun or cold mist, we will experience as much as the world can offer.
And when it comes time and we feel there must be a pathway to more resistance, we will follow and change accordingly. And we may depict the soft golden light on a red country silo, or it may be in the dark shadows cast by looming skyscrapers, but either way we will feel it and love it.