There is such a thing as looking at a painting too long.
The morning after I discover this, I go up into the hills and listen to the wind turbine turn. Not just turning its blades but the whole face of the thing, so it can find the wind. A sneaking suspicion has been sneaking up on me that it turns like this, but I had no proof. And technically I still don’t. (Because it was an accident, and my phone was too deep in my pocket). At least the suspicion is gone now though.
Some people would call it a windmill. I used to be one of those people. The people who call it a wind turbine would look at me in confusion and made me stop. Windmill is an old-fashioned word for whatever is in Holland, which is not here. And apparently turbines are not just for airplanes but wind. This is how language changes.
I find three empty beer cans at the top of the hill by the wind turbine and stomp them flat. It is good for the environment and one way to commemorate today’s insight.