By Kate Simblet -
They spin to the tune of the wind’s breath, but my gaze is steady. It stretches like loneliness from land out to sea, notes how they’re turning each day. Theirs is good energy: clean, green, infinite, magic produced from thin air. I reach for the clouds but battle instead – fighting for oxygen, wrestling each breath. Crackling down air into tired, tarred lungs, past the henchmen who clutter each tube.
There’s majesty in symmetry. White clean lines. Upstandingness. Defiance. They’re a mountain top army with a steely resolve, staring down danger, daring the wind. Their ocean sisters stand tall in the distance, feet deep in water, blades propelling – semaphores transmitted by waves.
Some days I look out but just see despondency: metal scarred mountaintops, rows of white crosses. I’m dwarfed by their permanence – small, insignificant, this tumour has cut all my power. These are the bleak days trapped alone with cruel thoughts, twisting sheets, twisting breaths to fill bird-brittle ribs. I cough from the shadows searching for light, we both need this air and time’s running out. Blades stand idle but the devil makes work — signals from the horizon, there’s no hope.
I’m a turbine too, standing alone. Living is temporary, but my feet touch the ground. I sometimes wonder what I’ll leave behind: a shadow, a chasm, a sprinkling of dust? I’m turning too, spinning with the world. Revolutions bring change, but certainty too. The sun will always wake in the East, by night she’ll dream from the West. Tides can’t resist the smile of the moon – it’s gravity too that pulls me back to earth. Nature’s a force much greater than me, I’m just a visitor here.
Tonight the sea turbines flash their hellos. Red lights twinkle from the depths, out the darkness – or just maybe they’re waving goodbye?
Kate Simblet (she/her) social works by day and plays with words by night. Lives in Brighton, loves the sea. You can find her on Twitter @KateSimblet.