This morning we got into poetry of a technology thing like pylons that dotted the countryside , concrete wired structures that took electricity to village cottages . The mountains spread everywhere and the roads crumbled like stones in the mountains .The pylons would stand in the green country like giant nude girls that would not hide their stone secrets.
Now the villages suddenly burst on us,
With mountains of stones around them
And roads crumbling like stones in sun,
As if they held the secrets of the stones.
And the mountains are of broken stone
Of ungainly teeth gaps, in stone bodies.
They hardly inspire thinking sculpture.
(reading a poem The Pylons by Stephen Spender)
Here in the grid outside our cities and villages the pylons stayed in a huddle, passing electricity on to each other. Tall grass kissed their feet embedded in green plains. They were reluctant to hide their secrets from the wind.