The ever-ongoing, rumbling noise of the great machines gnawing at the
earth keep me awake. I am pulled to the mine, the way across field and
abandoned highway lightened by a spotlight brighter than that found in
many soccer stadiums.
Swallowed soil, local history, rushes by on conveyor-belts to power plants
on the horizon, where it is digested into electricity for silly people
fiercely looking the other way, and into greenhouse gas farted into the
sky for all, and those who come after us, to enjoy.
(And knees don't make steady tripods.)