Wind Power

The morning we set out from Kyle Farmhouse, the sunshine plays tug of war with the mist. We climb the dew-soaked lane with rolling hills behind us and a cloud up ahead.

At a turn, the trail flattens out to turn right along the ridge. It's spruce and larch plantation to one side, and pastureland to the other. One moment we're in a cloud, and the next, a sun ray cradles my shoulder. Underfoot, the path goes marshy. Tadpoles wriggle in a permanent puddle across the path.

Up above the treeline, I spy a moment of movement. I pause, wait: again, through a tunnel in the mist, a straight line slices silently down: the blade of a wind turbine, enormous and nearly invisible above our heads.

The first turbine is silent, but the second is spinning faster. The wind and sunshine have won out over the mist, so we can see it tower above us. Eileen and I pause in the moving shadows of its three long blades and listen: it is as though it is creating the wind, rather than harnessing it. There is a rushing whoosh as each blade spins by, then a pause as between breaths.

Down where we are, the morning is nearly still. It's only the first hour, and this is already the tallest hill we'll climb today. Birdsong overwhelms the wind sound; winged creatures dart purposefully from treetops and across the fields.

We are carrying our lightened packs, and today is a short day. I feel good in my body, strong and rested. The road is rising to meet us, the sun at our backs. We walk on.

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