Here on Block Island (which has the possibly the most expensive power costs in the USA, and the most ecologically stupid, powered by diesel oil which is painstakingly tankered here by the boat) there has been endless debate about the possibility of having an off-shore windfarm. Much of the delay comes from vociferous folk who think any wind farm would spoil their views or add unwelcome sound levels. As if the technology had never been tried out anywhere before, as if the places where windfarms exist were not (in my opinion anyway) made more stunningly beautiful by the turbines rising majestically and gracefully skywards. I have lived near Cornwall’s north coast farm and New Zealand’s Tararua ranges farm.
Written mid-december 2012, while the community is still talking.
The Wind’s Gift
The rushes have turned brown. Now burnt bacon crispiness rustles, crackles in the wind The soft feathers a month past have flown. Beyond the near sound a seagull rises from the pond lifting its squawk beyond the waves sussuration. A snick, as each long stick rush bends to find its place clicks a return. Sun glitters off the wavelets Sighing whispering over and over every sound ceaselessly resonant. A plane hums its wasp buzz and car tyres offer their whoosh on the road to town. Unremitting the wind comes by my eardrum thrumming deep with endless mindless babel all around. I am here, I am wind, Take my gift. Let me add new sound beautiful low belling register somewhere between the wave and the swamp Let me bring new wonder: the wind farm. Harmonious grace outstanding here. Make this my gift.