Changing Skylines

Changing Skylines

"Is it the lesser of the evils?" I ask,
my old companion dumbstruck in awe,
and wonderment,
so silent,
though never as silent as the still born foal,
effortless,
yet not the wondrous machine of perpetual motion,
as once I thought,
my ignorance is bliss
technologically naive,
other than that of machines of the land
so unlike this .... this thing
a monolithic gracefulness motivated by the four winds

Still, so still,
though never motionless,
unlike the frozen water troughs in winter,
white sails slice decisively through the air,
grazing sheep at pasture pay no heed,
untroubled by such bold dominance
a proud addition to an ever changing skyline

The mighty oak a sapling by comparison,
but never will it live in its shadow
even though it stands in its shadow,
the ancient roots run deeper into mother earth, (as we speak
the lifeblood of a wounded stag colours the soil in a distant
field)
that searching network of reverence,
complicated as veins and arteries,
the conduits of necessity

" Not to my liking"
An unexpected response
stealing past the chapped lips of four score years...or more,
lips that have tasted change,
witnessed the war waged
between sturdy oak and fickle climate
Would this newcomer fare so well?
" Not that I dislike it mind you." he added,
never having been one to ruffle feathers,
the art of plucking being his fort?
though many deft skills had he mastered
in a lifetime busy, working the land

There was a noticeable absence of chattering voices
like those that dared to accompany
the monstrous intrusiveness of towering pylons,
metallic constructions that swathed as a divisive frontline,
invading tentacles of a rapidly approaching metropolis,
electric whispers overhead,
overheard,
mumbling in foreign tongues.

There was no pollutant cloud
black particled uncertainty to cosset
the deadly cancerous mists
spewing from distant chimneys,
surplus waste products,
slowly travelling further afield
carrying their evil spores
to the heart of the countryside,
seeping unchallenged forever downward,
down to the life-giving water table
far below the troubled surface

There was nothing but a calming breeze
brushing the bold blades
gently
coaxing them to life
willing them to chase the wind
to generate
in order to regenerate
cleanly
above our heads
silently
conveyed
beneath our feet

"Progress"
He mutters, as he shuffles off,
it's milking time.