From the air, the landscape takes on very different characteristics than on the ground. The walker orients himself to objects man-made, which strike an odd balance between the comfort of a familiar human scale, and a dehumanizing disregard for his presence. But from a great height, one encounters a landscape that goes well beyond the chauvinism of time. The grandeur below was formed over generations, over centuries, over aeons. Man's presence in it is incidental. I think of the great forest cover of Cambodia, of the dusty angles of India, of the battle-pocked cones and grids of Laos. But nowhere on earth I believe has the grandeur of Siberia. All is tabula rasa, the twisting rivers bringing life onto the slate. Canyons are as grand as that of Arizona, the mountains are areoli that rise from the tie-dyed steppe.
On the turntable: Drive-By Truckers, "The Unraveling"
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