somewhere in the early 2000's...

i grew up in the UK in a semi rural, borderline countryside town. i loved it, my brother and i would spend hours roaming around random fields and bits of ruins and abandoned farm buildings and the like.

i have this very distinct memory of going out on my own one day and getting absolutely, hopelessly lost. it was late afternoon, approaching sunset. i obviously did not have a phone, and it was fields and hills surrounding me as far as i could see. i'd lost my bearing and had nothing to reorient with. i was, as you may imagine, absolutely terrified. but resourceful. i had read something prior in a nat geo magazine about cows and deer getting their natural alignment to the earth's magnetic field interrupted by the electromagnetic fields of power pylons, and though i wasn't exactly aligning myself to anything, i had the idea that eventually, the powerlines spanning across these big fields would have to connect to something. so, feeling much more reassured at this prospect of a distant substation, i followed them.

i made it home fine, in the end. well after dark and much to my mother's anger. i was right - the powerlines did eventually come to a road, and the road brought me back into familiar streets. what really burned this memory into my brain, i think, is the feeling of traipsing through waist-high grass in the dim light, relying purely on the setting sun to keep me on course. i could barely see by the time it had set, so i was keeping myself close to the powerlines based on the electricity i could hear humming through them. if i strayed too far off in one direction, i'd weave my way back until i heard that crackling again. strangely comforting sensation that i never really forgot.