It’s not a spectacular or eye-catching image. It’s about the play of dark and light, contrast, and how things that can be invisible or ignored on clear days can come alive in the right circumstances. That thin, horizontal stripe of darkness on the horizon is the base of an island which, on sunny days, shows the road meandering up the hill from the ferry to the homes of its residents. Shows the cliffs, the green meadows, and houses dotted along the top. Often, there is a ferry tucked into the wharf, waiting to welcome travellers to and fro.
But at the moment captured here, there is a thick low cloud. It obscures the island, hiding all signs of human occupation and activity. It is heavy with the rain that will soon pound down on the roof, make waves on the street outside as it travels down to the bay and transfers to it the weight of the air.
It seems to say, nothing to see here, and my usual tendency would be to just observe that thin strip of black and decide to focus on indoor activities; the mundanity of putting the house in order is saved for such days. Today, the stark black cross of the telephone posts catch my eye. Just as an experiment, I focus on what I usually consider detracts from the view I want to see.
The low cloud has brought these man-made structures to the forefront and they refuse to be ignored. If you want to see the “out there” world, this is it. There is nothing else. They are simple, without mystery, utilitarian. They hide right in front of us, disregarded and taken for granted simply because they are everywhere.
The lack of distraction, finally, reveals an appealing starkness. The low cloud as a background unveils the complexity of its task, makes visible the thin disks which support the wires’ path from house to house to house. Displays in relief the drum-shaped transformer that protects us from an energy that has the power to kill. Reveals its invisible passage among us through the translucent dome of the street light, which illuminates our way in the darkness of night. Even through the interference of tree branches, it connects us, doing what it was designed to do, without rest. Without recognition.
Yes, even as an inanimate object it deserves our gratitude. And who can say if, perhaps as a purveyor of electricity, it absorbs some of that energy and knows its own version of life. There is no way to know, except through the imagination. And through a willingness to acknowledge that we tend to ignore what is right in front of us, until we have no choice but to see it. Until it is taken away.