My childhood home was located in a cul-de-sac neighborhood of twenty houses just off a busy road and overlooking a freeway. The sound of cars driving by was constant, but not overbearing as I would imagine it being if I lived next to the freeway. It was something that was noticeable during a quiet afternoon or in the still of the night. I had a friend who grew up along the Oregon coast just a few feet from the shore. He would tell me of how it was difficult to sleep without hearing the ocean and the sound of waves crashing up against the shore. When he said this I laughed and told him how the freeway was my ocean. How the distant sound of cars driving by soothed me to sleep every night as a child. One of my recurring dreams was that I'd wake up and hear silence-the sound of cars gone. Then wander down to an desolate freeway and a world devoid of people.
Now none of this so far has anything to do with power lines. In fact, there were no power lines in my little neighborhood; they were all underground. But fast forward to the present, and I am now living in a large suburb--no more freeway. However this suburb is old and littered with power lines. When I first moved here I detested the power lines. There are magnificent sunsets in this new neighborhood; however, enter the power lines. They cut through the skyline in a haphazard kind of way. The indifference these power lines have to ruining a beautiful skyline is infuriating. But my annoyance with them has slowly transformed to fascination. If I just take my focus away from the sky and onto the power lines themselves, they become quite beautiful. Transformers with bundles of wires hanging out, crisscrossing lines that form abstracts, birds sitting on them to create strange musical symphonies.
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