The dawn horizon is a deep magenta, foretelling of a damp day to come.  The desert is hushed with anticipation.  Holding its proverbial breath as it waits for the rising of the sun.  The aroma of coffee fills the camp, drifting in waves past my silent silhouetted form, as I stand at the edge of civilization gazing out at the arrival of a new day.  The anticipation of discovering new wonders fills my thoughts and I cradle my cup of energy, impatient to begin.

The sun pops its head above the Earths rim and the temperature begins to rise exponentially.  Removing the protective covers from the equipment to be utilized for the chosen tasks, the work for the day begins.

Hours of measurements and adjustments follow, blocking out any thought outside the scope of my work.  A distant rumble jolts me out of my isolation and I pull my gaze upwards away from my readings to study the sky above.  Another deep rumble echoes down the arroyo, sending shivers down my spine.  A flash of lightening exposes the scene, revealing a wall of water barreling down the once dry creek bed toward my solitary figure. The approach is quick and hits before there is time to escape to higher ground. The deluge engulfs me, carrying my helpless form as it moves through the once orderly camp. The remains of my work surround me, buffeting my limbs left and right as pieces of heavy equipment and implements of my research travel he deluge as it travels its course.   There is a new sound above the roar of the water.  I struggle to raise my head above the water level, just making out figures outlined along the upper bank shouting at my passing form.  Up ahead a new group appears as I speed forward, tossing an object directly into my unalterable path. I feel my body catch on something and I scramble to find any type of hold achievable. My hands recognize the texture of fishing net as my grip improves and the material becomes taut as the rescuers begin the arduous task of pulling me to safety.  The progress is slow as they cautiously direct my rescue without dislodging my precarious hold.  I am within a meter from the edge of the water when a piece of the flotsam traveling past me collides with my left side. Excruciating pain travels through every nerve of my body, sending my brain into overload.  My only functioning limb releases the life line and there is only pain.  Pain and then dark oblivion.

Dear Victoria,

Slowly the narrative of my accident is unfolding.  I have found it easier to relate it as an outsider looking in.  It somehow keeps the experience from enveloping me and sending my emotions back to that day. The state of my subconscious has improved so much over the last few months that I am being cautious in my recollections of that day, attempting to record the events, but not to immerse myself too deeply in the trauma. So it helps to look at it as writing a drama instead of something that almost took my life. I had forgotten my visions of the figures on the banks of the canyon. I cannot recall their faces, but the voices of my rescuers are etched into my memory.  

This is but a piece of the total recollection, but it is enough to give you an idea of how the re-creation is going. This is also allowing me to give a timeline to match the scanned documentation. It still amazes me that I survived, but even more that part of the equipment was salvaged.  I received a written message with one of the units shipped back.  It was from one of the rescuers.  It stated, “We made a great effort to recover your surviving equipment.  Since the only words we could get from you after your rescue was, ‘Where is my spectrometer? Where is my equipment?’ We determined that these pieces were of great importance to you.  We hope they are repairable and will once again server you purpose.”  It is strange how perceptive this group was.  Anomaly influence or pure coincidence?  It matters not! I have spent a great deal of time rebuilding the mostly intact pieces and I now have a mirror lab complete at the college.  There is still the tailoring to be done for the new geographic location, but this will be the bulk of my task in the coming months. I do not know if this would have been accomplished without the salvaged units and the recovered data the New Zealanders made possible.  I would have had to start from scratch and there is now not time for that before my departure for the Phycodurus.  I will always be grateful to my rescuers for what to them seemed a minor task compared to my survival.

Now that the lab is assembled I have decided that now is a good instance in my preparations to take a short break and visit our parents.  The travel restrictions have been lifted by my medical team and the next steps of the project will take me through the remainder of my time on Earth. Thus I will leave Oxford tomorrow and take the train south to our childhood home in London.  Our mother has been to Oxford a few times during my convalescence, but I have not seen father since your departure. He was never one for dealing well when one of us was sick as children and my accident was no exception.  Since my limb is now almost indistinguishable from my other arm, he should be more at ease in my presence. 

Mother has arranged an unsurpassable experience during my visit.  Because of her extensive contribution to the costumes used in the production, she has acquired opening night tickets to the exquisite performance of Da Vinci’s lost music. The pageant will be performed at the old Globe theatre on the backs of the Thames.  The only thing missing from this joyous occasion is you.  We both were ecstatic when these lost transcripts were discovered after being lost for centuries.  It was thought that Mr. Da Vinci never transcribed any of his scores.  The historians thought his music was lost forever.  Then we read last year of recovered notes and a single notebook hidden in a monastery in Milan, frequented by the artist.  Such a find! It has taken almost a year for the preparation of their unveiling to be completed.  The content of these manuscripts has been a closely guarded secret until this planned unveiling in London. In just a few days an incredible Passion play extravaganza will be introduced to the world. They are keeping with the tradition of the huge productions that Da Vinci once worked on himself as a young man. What would he think if he could view his music scores transformed into an epic production?

I will give you a full account of my visit in my next letter.  It will be impossible to give a suitable account of the experience, but I will try my best.  My only consolation for you not being able to experience this with me is the hope that on New London there will be a chance to experience something as phenomenal. I hope you are able to have a similar experience on New London during your time there.  That is my only consolation for your absence during this incredible occurrence.

Love always,

Annalis