I have noticed a psychological phenomenon lingering around us and the machines we are using: repeat exposure to the sound of throttle lures a majority of handlers into an overuse and eventually into an abuse.
One will see (and have) the same machine just go longer, do more work that way…
And pretty soon, as confidence settles in, one will explore further and further into the higher digit domain of its power output, of its volume. Once you have it might as well find out what the machine is capable of doing for you.
At this point windowpanes rattle, handles shake, thrill grows as the blood gushes through an outraged heart. The eyes burn under a bloodshot capillary netting, thumbs get sore, bums numb, but go-go, we have(?) to just keep going. Like there is no destination, the scope becoming that of staying in locomotion.
Wholes get wider and deeper under the scoop arm of the excavator, just because if for no other cause. And engines run idle, waiting and wasting.
As a result, landscapes change… physically and emotionally alike. Harmony is shattered. When we think we healed a wound, we just superimposed a faux skin over the sore. We just butchered, but not in an artisan way.
Take your eyes past the scoop, past the working tip of the machine…
Look ahead of the wheels, think what goes on under the tires…
If you feel infected too, break out of the machine epidemic! The control is you, not a button or a lever.
You may just discover a sensitive and very sensible nature around.