No sight says to me "Honey, you're home" than the windmills of Altamont Pass, near Livermore, California.
The first time I saw them was on a gray blustery morning. Driving through a windy pass on I-85, just north of the Stockton junction onto I-5, I was confronted by this army of giants waving their arms like pinwheels, perhaps to ward off what sounded like a million invisible bees.
Numerous trips since then between my home in San Francisco and Los Angeles have blessed me with many viewings of the windmills. Be it sunrise or twilight, no matter what time of day, or whether the sky is stark blue or flush with clouds and shadow, it is a wonderous sight. I'm sure that the engineers or scientists or whomever calculated where to place each one for maximum results didn't take into consideration its visual impact on the human eye, but I consider them artists nonetheless.
In fact, I'll never understand why wind farms more aren't popping up in fields all over this grand country of ours -- if not for the energy efficiency they provide, then for their beauty.
Get blown away,
