I drove from London towards Tarandowah this afternoon. I was out in the country, on Scotland Drive. And I looked around.
Lots of rolling farm fields interspersed with woodlots. I love the curves of the land … no sharp angles or straight lines. They mirror the flow I often feel inside me. And there’s a sentinel tree on top of a rise, its bare branches reaching out in a gesture of grace. Lovely.
But what’s this? There’s a line of towers up ahead, crossing the road at right angles. I know we need electricity but the huge man-made structures intrude in my head. I thank the unknown powers that the towers aren’t paralleling Scotland Drive, accompanying me all the way. Crossing their path, however, is okay. I’m happy to wish them goodbye.
Here comes an old barn with its grey vertical boards. Half of it has fallen down in a heap of wood. And that too is okay. I welcome the old and passing. So impermanent, this life.
And then there’s a field, jam packed with solar panels, facing away from me. My stomach turns. It’s such a mass of flat angled surfaces. The next field too. How strange my mind wanders. Solar energy is such a boon for mankind but I can’t get beyond my distaste for rectangles. It reminds me of a subdivision in Calgary, Alberta – cookie cutter homes only a few feet from each other.
As Scotland climbs its last kilometre towards its T intersection with Belmont Road, I see living beings on the horizon … silhouettes of cows and horses. I like that too. Seems that I’m an old fashioned type of guy.