by John Mattingly
Out a narrow window I see my new center pivot on the loose, crossing Highway 17. Cars and trucks are jammed and honking as the machine spreads out like a praying mantis on the warpath, pulling its electric line out of the ground like a giant umbilical cord. It runs roughshod over a fence and three power poles, causing flares of flame as the main wire cracks and arcs to ground. The pivot collides with a house and the end tower starts to ascend to the roof. I wake up in a cold sweat.
