I was in the car with my family and had the rare luxury of watching the scenery pass by, so when we came across field upon field of windmills, I whipped out my camera with childlike glee.
They intrigue me, these stark, white windmills. They look like abstract art. Fields of giant daisies. Modern art trillium. Whirligigs stuck in the ground by giants.
When I was a child, there were a few relics of windmills on farms. On a car trip through the country it was good luck to be the first to spot one and call it. Those relics are all but gone. The new sleek ones are not random, but clustered; not dilapidated but streamlined.
I like the idea of harnessing the power of the wind. If only we could harness the wind created by politicians in election years…