Turbine Lullaby

The desert at night can be so still

If you are away from lights its colors are muted purples and dark blue

In contrast to the almost white of the desert sand

The foothills a soft muddy rose in the light of a full moon

On the desert floor the stillness can be felt, especially in summer

And yet where the foothills come together

Wind is a constant caller, no matter the season

Weaving its fingers through the spines of the Tamrisk trees

A futile barrier against the relentless nagging of that endless wind

From a gust, to a gale, to a breeze – it never stops

It wasn’t called the windy pass without reason

On an early fall night, in the quarter hours before Midnight

We drive to the windy pass and park the car along the road bordering the desert

It is windy, not breezy, not gusty, it is windy.

We head out into the desert, hoping the cold will keep the snakes in their dens

We see the site in the distance, the place we are headed

It always seemed closer when we drove by

Here we are

Their trunks rise up tall and straight

Light colored, grayish white

Like a forest of Aspen

Synthetic in their symmetry

Up, up, up, reaching into the night

The branches swirl around and around

Whirring and eerily whining

A melodic. hollow, echoing sound

Thwomping down a tunnel

Is this science fiction?

We stand in the middle of the forest now

The noise is deafening

We lay down on the sand

Closing our eyes

Feeling the vibration

Branches churning

Dawn is just breaking

Sand only looks soft, we are stiff

It wasn’t intended, to sleep in the forest

No, it’s not what we planned to do

The propeller like pinwheels made us smile

When we lay down, we thought it just for a while

But the forest told us long ago tales of the future

Do you hear that sound on the wind? A somewhat plaintive cry?

We stayed to listen and fell its victim

As the turbines sang us a lullaby