Getting a bird’s eye view of the globe.
Photo: Marcelo da Mota Silva.
The commonplace view of the earth from an airplane at 35,000 feet — a vista that would have astounded Dickens or Darwin — can be instructive when we contemplate the fate of our earth. We see faintly, or imagine we can, the spherical curve of the horizon and, by extrapolation, sense how far we would have to travel to circumnavigate, and how tiny we are in relation to this home suspended in sterile space. When we cross the Canadian northern territories en route to the American West Coast, or the Norwegian littoral, or the interior of Brazil, we are heartened to see that such vast empty spaces still exist — two hours might pass, and not a single road or track in view.
But also large and growing larger is the great rim of grime — as though detached from an unwashed bathtub — that hangs in the air as we head across the Alps into northern Italy, or the Thames basin, or Mexico City, Los Angeles, Beijing — the list is long and growing. These giant concrete stains laced with steel, those catheters of ceaseless traff... Read more
