This recent visit was a hot one. Sweltering temperatures on those rocks with a sticky breeze whipping around, swirling stuff up and flapping the measure flags. Something struck me this time in terms of how it felt to wander around the periphery of the ridge, looking down the slope of the incline from the highest point on the site (the sloped, fabricated half-mound that will be the top of the runway, with the highway below that bifurcates the space). Well, it wasn’t so much looking down, but stopping and turning around. You’re immediately transported to an arid, almost otherworldly landscape that seemingly extends as far as the eye can see. White sand/rock/stone covers the ground with nothing but a series of cans, poles and flags coming between it and the blue of the sky. It’s a strange feeling to be on top of such a flat expanse, feeling simultaneously grounded and suspended.
As well, I found myself fixated upon a certain lighting fixture run by a generator alongside walls being built on the bottom, opposite side of the runway incline. Something about the heat emanating from the lamps in the mid-morning sun, causing this sort of flickering shimmer on the metal where the two light sources came into contact. Behind these bulbs a swaying slice of iron hovers in the breeze, seemingly light as a feather but knowingly heavy and precarious.
Anyway, something nice about all of that.