Great grey white wings sweeping down, drawing arcs in the sky as they reach back up through the blue. Precision made turbine blades scything through the air, hacking it and chopping it into manageable chunks to steal the power of the wind. Wind velocity pendulating vanes with their tips travelling ten times faster than any man and air density pirouetting the rotor shaft twenty two times a minutes through its cogs and gears to squeeze greater efficiency from the dynamo, tens of metres above the surface of the earth.
Fields of three-bladed windmills standing proud like sunflowers turning not towards the sun but aided by computer turning to face the breeze instead, pulling at its flow, spinning their blades on the axis of the generator. High tech windmills, redolent of an ancient technology made contemporary grinding away in the ether, not milling grain into flour but transforming wind into power, harvesting the new staple of our diet and nourishing a regenerated industrial revolution.
Primeval forests of giant trefoils, fleurs-de-lis, beautifully engineered and dancing in a ballet of perfect harmony, mesmeric and hypnotic conceiving megawatts of energy, nudging electrons through the copper, pushing and pulling them through the metallic arteries and veins of the grid, criss-crossing the country to feed the addictions of a modern world.
Blades that are leading and leaning into the wind with a low torque ripple, creating a wake of turbulent, broken air and a deep background humming rhythm, confusing wildlife, scarring remote hillsides or coastlines, on shore, off shore and bringing a new age aesthetic, a Bauhaus of energy production, an emphasis on functional design in architecture made art.
You either love them or hate them.
Thoughts from a Guerrilla Worker 