... over beige dusty dry brown ploughed field sloping down away from my elevated view and rising up again after creating a shallow gully through the field along which sit weathered wooden telegraph poles suspending cables carrying conversations secrets admissions schedules disagreements giggles tears devastation and joy as I glide home with scores of others. Do they register these scenes of beauty of visual arrest. The shapes the scale the angles of tree lines skirting fields the textures on hedgerows millions of blades of dried grass billions of particles of dry soil created by the diminishing light slipping past our orbit but only fleetingly seen.
