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USA Wind: I weatched the tall grasses swaying, whipping, hanging on, The sun was bright in the hot fast spring air, Kites were flying high, high overhead, Leaning into the wind I walked along the prarie path, Where hawks circled and soared far above, On my way to the place of sunshine and golden grass, Left overs from last year awaiting fire or new growth, I saw the dead soldiers that had won the war. Their skeletal remains stood over the remnants, The remains of the childhood of a nation, They were rusted and broken, Missing vanes like limbs lost to blasts, More like hailstones, high winds, Corrosion and neglect, They and their farms surrounded, Suburban cookie-cutter houses and town houses, Mute testimony to once lush fields and a slower life, The priceless water they'd given had made life possible, Two continents dependent on their whirling arms, And here and there, here and there, You can see a whirligig with fresh paint, All it's blades straight and true, Though the pumper shafts seldom touch the wellheads, And most often they're furled and immobile, Yet go down Argentina way, Or maybe to the vast ranches of the American West, And you'll still find them tirelessly at battle, Bringing life from the vast Earth gallon by gallon, Year after year after year, And if you have good money and open land, You can still find them new, Sons of the Aermotor clan, And there's the tale of the Jacobs, Left alone at an Antarctic outpost for twenty years, Still turning and delivering electricity, To an empty building that saved a few desperate souls in need, So is that continent number three? The new soldiers are starting to grow now, They harvest a different crop, They take wind and give lightning, Clean clear power for the growing urban demand, Standing tall they dwarf their ancestors, Their feet grown upon the farms or shoals, They stand upon land and water and deliver, And their forward charge will someday render irrelevant, The dark visages of the twin poison monsters, Oil, sir, and coal, oh no, They are like the beneficient angels, Clean crisp white wings twirl endlessly, Saving farms and lungs the world over, Heroes that we are just learning of slowly, In a battle too few understand, And so like Don Quixote, I recognize Giants when I see them. AquarianM By: Daniel A. Stafford (C) 04/18/2003 By: Daniel A. Stafford Author's CommentsNew Aermotor mills and parts can be found at:
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