I can see pretty far on a clear day from my apartment on the third floor facing north and northeast of town. Three stories is as tall as houses get around these parts so it’s a view that just skims the rooftops. In the summer I saw my neighbors garden in their backyard, their straw hats bobbing among the thick greens. In the fall once on my fire escape I watched as three points of light circled the Boston skyline: silent, eerie, like something not from this world, and I, too, had the sudden feeling that I was only passing through. In winter I watched as it snowed from a single cloud in the sky on an otherwise clear blue day.
Among the things I see from my apartment is a windmill. It’s in the top picture: that white thing in the distance, under the power lines, over the highway. I read some about windmills then. How a single windmill can generate enough power for a thousand homes. I decided I like windmills. They are colossal and useful and this one tells me if it’s a windy day and reminds me of better times.
Today around dusk I decided it was time to visit this windmill. I took my bike and started in that direction. I didn’t pay too much attention to where I was turning and such, when I would go over a hill, I would see it again and then I would take the street that most nearly headed in its direction. I imagined myself standing under this windmill and looking up at its giant arms turning. I imagined it’d be in the center of some big green field.
The ride took me to the industrial part of town. And then it dead-ended at the bus depot. Just over the bridge, where bikes were not allowed, over a shallow river, behind a chain-linked fence, was the windmill. Next to it was a crane hauling something around maybe building up some new structure. So this was as close as I could get today.
I gotta get a car.