Scars We Make

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Out across the land roll the miles of wire, carrying electricity. Keeping the internet fired, cooking the meals, lighting out way into the future.  Like invaders from Mars the poles grasp the high tension wires.  Turbines whirl on far hill making little electrons to travel in the wires.

It is a grid of poles and wires that stretches around the world, ever shrinking the planet earth.  Clear eye stretching vistas are few and far between.  Lights on far hillside twinkle in the darkness, lights glow marking the prison. 

By our demands of conveniences, the landscape changes.  No longer is it trees marking the way.  Now it is logs standing on end, arms stretched out grasping the wire.  It brings a standard of living unthinkable centuries ago.

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Side by side they march, big brother to the station, little boy to the home.  Each leaving their marks, a pock mark on the ground. 

Go back to living with candles, oils and wood.  What would happen if there was no longer electricity?   Smart phone would be nothing, computer would be silent the lantern would flicker.

Would it be the end of life or just a change?

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On far hill are the white towers of the wind turbines, surrounding the high power lines, feeding more electrons into the wires.  Behind sets the gas fired power plant to make up for when the wind does not turn the turbines. 

It is a funny life.  The changes of tomorrow are yesterdays machines.  The windmill was one of earliest powered machines man made.    Returning to the dark ages, have candles, lanterns or oils.  When the toe is stubbed it hurts.  The land is scarred by man, nothing unusual.  Man is always fouling his nest. 


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