Wed Mar 05, 2008 2:25 am
The seasons turn, the bitter chill of Winter giving way to the tentative warmth of Spring; the sun shines more brightly, glinting from melting ice and driving the snow to take refuge in the shadows and hollows of the land. After cold, the thaw. With the thaw, renewed activity.
The part-built Meetinghouse has been under wraps through frost and snow, swathed in scaffolding and canvas, lying dormant. They'd managed to get the foundations excavated and laid before the first snows had set in, the capacious vaulted cellars closed in, and a start made to the construction of the the ground floor. For months it has resembled a floorplan, low walls of brick and stone and mortar tracing the outlines of a lobby where the citizenry might be impressed by a reflection in stone of the dignity and gravitas of Myrken's government; beyond that a wide ring of sturdy walls describes the site of the Council Chamber, room for many spectators to sit and observe the machinery of government in action; smaller compartments to each side, clerks' offices and meeting rooms and the like. Neatly-arranged, orderly, sensible. But throughout months of snow and ice, it has remained as potential, possibility, intent as-yet unrealised. A dream of a building.
With the easing of Winter's grip, though, signs of life return along with crocus blooms and a dusting of pale green to branches and hedgerows. Labourers, masons, architects and engineers bustle around the construction site, and the north end of the Market Square the air resounds with industry; the rumble of wagons bearing stone and timber; the ringing of masons' chisels; the rasping and hammering of carpenters at work on scaffolding or framework; the creak of ropes and pulleys as cranes haul blocks of stone into place; the rasp of trowels spreading mortar that will bind brick to brick. All of these things bringing the long-delayed project closer and closer to fruition, and Myrken closer to recovering from the night that had devoured the old Meetinghouse with flames born of madness.
A visible sign of progress, of renewal, of healing. Of hope.