This is transfixing to watch. A lot of personal memories and feelings can be projected into vast horizon; seemingly empty yet so full. Pathways seem to open up and speak on time.
It reminds me of something I read yesterday in “Tumble Home” by Amy Hempel, after the character writes of seeing two ghosts (a small girl playing catch with her dog) out a window in London:
"The ghosts I had seen before were at Stonehenge. They were the ghosts of roads -
the long pairs of parallel lines leading up to the site…the roads of prehistory- dents now like the tracks a vacuum cleaner leaves in thick carpet. They made me think of American baseball fields and of the men who mow them daily, crisscrossing the green in different patterns every day, and how- if the home team won- the men would repeat the pattern they had mowed the winning day.”
THE GHOSTS OF ROADS.
