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It is briefly very cold in our house. All of a sudden there is ice everywhere. It would be very unwise to use the stairs, so instead we shout from floor to floor. Everything seems echoey in a cold house.
There is steam coming from the bathroom - somebody has left the shower on, and the water smells of burning metal. The floor is starting to crack. We crowd around the shower, but water droplets splash onto our skin like sparks from a fire, so we scurry away.
Life in our ice house is exactly such a cycle: the scurrying away, and the creeping back. Soon the ice will be gone and all but forgotten, when we wake perceiving things as they were and as they will be.
