Okay, sorry I didn’t post last Monday, I was on holiday and wasn’t using any technology so I forgot and couldn’t actually post anything because my iPad was across the ocean! Anyway, I’m back now and am making up for that missed week with a lil’ scribble that came into my head today. (This is fiction.)
It looked so different there on the ground, in the car, than from in the air. Up high, in the plane, she saw everything, it was an open perspective, enlightening. And yet it was detached. It wasn’t intimate as it was from the car where she could see the way the light danced on each blade of grass in a field or the way the dust and dirt of the road hovered over the ground and chased the car as it sped along the road. From up in the sky the fields seemed to oppose each other, jagged boundaries reminding her of the wings of a dragonfly, wings like broken glass. From the car none of that contrast or conflict was seen on the horizon. As she watched the land roll past her she began to understand the repetitive tales of this place; repetitive and true. She felt as if it was a long-winded conversation as the fields stretched on eternally. Sometimes her attention would be regained when the blend of wheat and other crops was punctuated by horses or cattle, even deer. She couldn’t help but have her perception influenced by the vastness and endlessness of this place. And still she hoped and willed herself to look past those clichés to find a beauty; a peaceful constancy defined by its periphery.