Susan Goes to Crawford

The Texas landscape has been confusing me. There is space, wide open space. And plopped down all along the road and over the hills are huge industrial complexes worthy of a New Jersey suburb. Sometimes they look like the superstructures of giant ocean liners or tanker ships
with the land as the water line. And then there are all the tractors and RV's and semis and pick-up trucks and drills and power lines going all over the place and buses and trains and every toy a boy loves to play with only real and life size and collected in assortments of colors and models, each with its own brand of cool. Ugly is okay if it is useful, or was once useful, I guess. Perhaps it is comforting if the endless horizon is broken with looming hulks of human industry. Little or no attention seems to be given to aesthetics. Function somewhat. But why keep the old shells that rust and rot in the yard like a toy chest full of things played with once-upon-a-time and cannot part with out of sentiment for those good old times.