AKA - Light Show III. In contrast to the previous 2 posts (fireflies, lightning), the only natural aspect to this edition involves the surroundings and not the show itself. Still, an awe-inspiring moment nonetheless.
Driving on the flat plains of west Texas bores some to tears. To me, though, the slowly (very slowly) rolling landscape of mesquite scrub resembles an open petrified ocean, freeze dried and converted to earth in some cosmic flash. Change the hues from sandy clay to deep blues and dark emeralds and replace the occasional cell tower to a trawler and you're offshore in the Atlantic.
The terrain carries a unique beauty that stretches for hundreds of miles, painted by the most vivid, molten sunsets seen anywhere. Typically, flat top hills sporadically line the horizon at various distances - fossilized rogue waves to this sea lover's imagination. The only objects that confuse this whole creative dusty-dry to salty-soaked transformation are the occasional oil wells. If I stretch it, they could be buoys. Maybe. Too much of a jump, though, even for me.
Now, though, the wells have been joined by another intrusion of man into this wild landscape. A drive down Texas Highway 84 from Snyder to Sweetwater will present the driver with a sea of wind turbines. Thousands of smooth white blades slowly twirl atop mammoth obelisks, all facing the same direction, not too unlike sunflowers following the sun, except these space-age machines move with the wind. The view is surreal, to say the least. In the midst of pure ruggedness have sprouted acres upon acres of these perfectly symmetrical giants, completely throwing off nature's own rougher symmetry. And yet, it's strangely mesmerizing, peaceful possibly. Not necessarily disappointing, like a beachfront McDonald's on Fiji. Rather, it works in some odd way.
By day, the scene catches the eye and keeps luring it back. Thankfully, stretches of the road provide little, if any, traffic, making it easier on the wandering eye. But at night, oh at night, is when "the moment" happens. It completely pops when driving south from Snyder, thanks to the fall from something of a shelf that drops you into the valley of the turbine farm. When following this path in the nighttime's dark blanket, dimly lit by a sky full of sparkling silver stars, one must make a conscious effort to refrain from applying the breaks, pulling to the side of the road, and placing a call to UFO Central. It really looks like the mother ship has landed. The mother of all mother ships!. And if the visitors occupying this behemoth aren't friendly, we're toast. For on top of each of the wind turbines is a blinking red light, like those on any tower that may interfere with air travel. But, here's the part that causes immediate jaw-droppage, the lights are synchronized. Yes. They all blink at the same time.
By day, the scene catches the eye and keeps luring it back. Thankfully, stretches of the road provide little, if any, traffic, making it easier on the wandering eye. But at night, oh at night, is when "the moment" happens. It completely pops when driving south from Snyder, thanks to the fall from something of a shelf that drops you into the valley of the turbine farm. When following this path in the nighttime's dark blanket, dimly lit by a sky full of sparkling silver stars, one must make a conscious effort to refrain from applying the breaks, pulling to the side of the road, and placing a call to UFO Central. It really looks like the mother ship has landed. The mother of all mother ships!. And if the visitors occupying this behemoth aren't friendly, we're toast. For on top of each of the wind turbines is a blinking red light, like those on any tower that may interfere with air travel. But, here's the part that causes immediate jaw-droppage, the lights are synchronized. Yes. They all blink at the same time.
The unison of red pulses hypnotically grasps everyone in the vehicle, and the wide-eyed gregorian chants soon begin.
"Ooohhh woowww."
"Maaaaann."
"Thaaaat'ssAaawwwessooomme."
"WwhhhooooooooaaaaaaaaDuuude."
That last chant was mine.
As we make the slow, not very steep, not very elevated descent into this transformed landscape, the feeling is a very otherworldly type of coolness. Even though the illumination is man-made, the sheer area covered makes the scene as impressive as nature's synchronized light show performed by the Congaree Lightning Bugs that we were lucky enough to catch earlier in the summer. This is indeed another rare "wow" moment. That makes a trifecta for the summer, which may qualify as a moment in and of itself. And to think, summer's not yet over. Are the moments of cosmic alignment, when amazement and wonder converge for a brief moment for those awake enough to recognize them, over for now? I'll let you know, but I have a feeling...
