A Dust Devil Meets a Powerline

Drawn up like a snake charmed from a basket, a dust devil rises into an empty sky before swaying off across the open stubble of a wheatfield.  The last of summer’s sun has bleached the wheat stubble to an undeniable blonde color.  The dust devil scours through the rows of cut grain, growing darker, directing itself toward certain collision with high tension power lines strung between two purple, high-bucking, mountain ranges.

You might think catastrophic failure would result where these two powerful forces meet.  But the dust devil ghosts right through the thrumming lines; leans right through them and does not thin until abruptly turning in a new direction.

At once, the dust devil dissipates.

Watching, as I do, I am always trying to seek a point in all of this.

--Mitchell Hegman.