The streets along my neighborhood are lined with trees that were pretty at first, then lopped off at the tops to accommodate the power lines. Their deformed frames make me think of the legacy of our lives we carry in out genetics. Your newborn will remember your binge drinking college days. Your ancestor’s starvation is in your chromosomes. One day the power lines will be buried, or power will be delivered or generated in some other way, and the power lines will be obsolete.
Trees twisted on the sides of mountains are called Krummholz trees, with their limbs all forced to one side by wind. In the years after the power lines come down, the trees will retain their stunted morphology, growing up and around a cropped trunk. For the generations who have never seen power lines, those who are yet to come, what will they call these strange things lining their streets?