As the sun rises it sends a myriad of colours through the stark sky. The metallic structure in front of me reflects the light, creating golden shimmering branches that reach into the clear sky. The early morning peace is only interrupted by the distant chirps of birds and the quiet hum of the box next to me. The steady predictability of it soothes me somehow. It's cold, steam rises from my breath and I lean closer to my humming friend to keep warm. The metal next to me gently rattles as a boom sounds out. It isn't menacing, it feels as though the earth has a singular heart beat that echoes deep beneath me.
The gravel under my feet gives a satisfying crunch as my boots cross the site. I look up to the distant gentle rolling hills and shrubby bushland. It creates an interesting juxtaposition to the flat open space and metallic branches. I imagine it would have the phase "architecturally designed" if it were to grace the pages of a catalogue. Stainless and Stone, Walnut and Marble, Cows and Substations.
I follow a line of people through the designated maze. Like ants we follow along the same path, each carrying an assortment of bags and random items. The dress code is similar to some bizarre nightclub, neon colours and leather knee high boots are the norm. Utility belts seem to be optional.
Travelling along next to our line of ants is a giant structure twice as big as a house. Its bulky frame and slow meander is reminiscent of a lazy dinosaur or a slowly migrating whale.
The maze leads to a sheer cliff that contrasts sharply with the surrounding flat void, yet it allows for an intimate view of the layers beneath. A stark line of black gold cuts through, a line that feeds the economy, a line that feeds families. Prehistoric living creatures combined with millions of years of heat and pressure is now the whole reason we're all here in our neon glory.
Alain DeBotton teaches us in "the pleasures and sorrows of work" that all forms of employment can have hidden beauty and wonder. Although I'm sure my brother will disagree, I think a coal mine can be beautiful and hold plenty of wonder.
The gravel under my feet gives a satisfying crunch as my boots cross the site. I look up to the distant gentle rolling hills and shrubby bushland. It creates an interesting juxtaposition to the flat open space and metallic branches. I imagine it would have the phase "architecturally designed" if it were to grace the pages of a catalogue. Stainless and Stone, Walnut and Marble, Cows and Substations.
I follow a line of people through the designated maze. Like ants we follow along the same path, each carrying an assortment of bags and random items. The dress code is similar to some bizarre nightclub, neon colours and leather knee high boots are the norm. Utility belts seem to be optional.
Travelling along next to our line of ants is a giant structure twice as big as a house. Its bulky frame and slow meander is reminiscent of a lazy dinosaur or a slowly migrating whale.
The maze leads to a sheer cliff that contrasts sharply with the surrounding flat void, yet it allows for an intimate view of the layers beneath. A stark line of black gold cuts through, a line that feeds the economy, a line that feeds families. Prehistoric living creatures combined with millions of years of heat and pressure is now the whole reason we're all here in our neon glory.
Alain DeBotton teaches us in "the pleasures and sorrows of work" that all forms of employment can have hidden beauty and wonder. Although I'm sure my brother will disagree, I think a coal mine can be beautiful and hold plenty of wonder.
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