Frozen weeds crunched beneath my hiking boots, but another sound whispered between my footsteps.
Whoomp.
The trail crisscrossed unused farmland. Unrelenting gray–– piled from ground though fog and up to clouds––allowed me to admire my new crimson parka, as my sleeves swished against the waistline of my coat, instead of watching where I was going. I stopped. Was something following me?
Whoomp.
The precise rhythm was as out of place as a right angle in nature.
Whoomp.
But its tone was too ethereal to be mechanical.
A wind turbine. Rising from the middle of an apple orchard. The trees, with naked branches twisting inward, squatted in rows like an army of old women frozen to the earth. The turbine rose sleek and haughty above the crones. White steel shaft soared skyward, topped by slender blades, arms that rotated without effort. A ballerina at the barre.
I had opinions about the scenery. What did the scenery think of me? Squatter than the fruit trees, trampling around as though I could get somewhere, a disrespectful creature shrieking lipstick red at the quiet winter landscape.
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Whoomp.
The trail crisscrossed unused farmland. Unrelenting gray–– piled from ground though fog and up to clouds––allowed me to admire my new crimson parka, as my sleeves swished against the waistline of my coat, instead of watching where I was going. I stopped. Was something following me?
Whoomp.
The precise rhythm was as out of place as a right angle in nature.
Whoomp.
But its tone was too ethereal to be mechanical.
A wind turbine. Rising from the middle of an apple orchard. The trees, with naked branches twisting inward, squatted in rows like an army of old women frozen to the earth. The turbine rose sleek and haughty above the crones. White steel shaft soared skyward, topped by slender blades, arms that rotated without effort. A ballerina at the barre.
I had opinions about the scenery. What did the scenery think of me? Squatter than the fruit trees, trampling around as though I could get somewhere, a disrespectful creature shrieking lipstick red at the quiet winter landscape.
Recent posts:
Miss Universe
Political Race