I drove across my state from water to Eastern border, recently – 6 hours each way.
I saw the amazing rain fall of darkness and drove into the sunrise – the clouds stuck and held back by height and jagged wind drafts to the mountain peaks.
I saw the dried out stubble of feed corn and median grasses, the puzzle board of farm plots and orchards. I traversed from Evergreen forest to tree breaks on windy nearly barren hillsides to rocky cropping where cows grazed.
Hundreds of windmills were turning and turning, river wide deep and blue grey, and a small solar farm by the side of the Interstate.
Hundreds of waterfalls in the Mountain Pass.
Miles and miles of irrigation to dry farms, farmers driving baling tractors, clouds moving slowly, until sky is clear and sun beats steadily down. Sweater on and sweater off.
Wind twists dirt devils towards the sky across the dirt top soil.
Gazing out from the bus window I see the green velvet perfection of rolling hill – thousands of windmills turning and turning. Road signs with solar panels and small wind turbines attached; catching air and informing our passage.
Sheep and sheep and some black cattle graze.
Dry stone walls that fascinated and row upon row of neat hedge – gorse, heather, Irish fuchsia.
Garbage/ recycling truck in the early morning city with 3 running to collect bags: “Please do your part by keeping your H and F tidy.” (Guide thought H = house and F = Fence)
Windmills atop city buildings empowering life – energy.
How ancient are those walls which lead and organize my vision across the field – calm and peaceful. Farmers must now learn how to rebuild and maintain, and they had to be removed during WAR.
Tree lines of Larch, Birch, Rowan, and some Douglas fir; about the same amount of liter as nearby in my life.
The clouds move quickly across the sky, I had forgotten this about Islands; weather changing often and rain now then gone to sunshine.
Wind turbines turn and turn – Reactors of Nuclear here and there – Rivers of brown hue – red.
Cows Tail falls on hillside trickle down to naval base below and ocean’s bay.
No desert, dry and barren…
Ancient field and land, wood stream hides Manor house and castles – once filled with life.
All the stories read and contemplated now envisioned with wondering of how those heavy skirts and tiny shoes could manage twisting stairwells and wind whistling while cold seeps and hearth fires burn. Rugs now hundreds of years old, and frame to bed to hold the warmth in place; the children’s pictures grace the wall – not scowling like the Princes in the dining room, as we hear of lives lived and now gone.
How contemporary families are coping and keeping on.
Here and now
The deer startled did not bound in front of my car and waited for my passage. It nearly leapt and such as it was I did not witness even its presence as it worried my passenger. I was unafraid even as the sunset orange – vibrant was cut dark by the rain of cloud gossiping about night and I continued home.
All beauty as memory kept.