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Poem

My cell phone rings, and my watch display shows that it’s my mother calling. 
I press the connect button on my steering wheel and immediately my Mums weak Scottish lilted voice fills the cabin of my car. 
Such sweet music emanating from my speakers, better than any song. 
I instantly smile and shout: “Hello, can you hear me, ok? You’re on speaker.”  
God, I love this woman, just to hear her voice is a joy. We chat amiably as I make my way along the highway to home. To my home, her’s is two thousand seven hundred and fifty-three miles away; yet there she is clear as day chatting to me as if she were sitting beside me in the car. 
I think of Marconi, Bell, Tesla, and the innumerable others. 
The factory workers in China who assembled my phone, and those in Korea who manufactured the car I drive. 
The miners working in harsh dangerous conditions excavating the rare earth minerals required for the batteries that bring all this technology to life. Then, of course, I cannot forget the telecommunications workers who built and service the networks the call travels along, and even the agent who sold me the phone.
It makes my head spin when I contemplate the complexities involved, the inspiration and innovation required from people all over the world to make this not, so minor miracle take place. Something I have come to take so for granted yet am so eternally grateful for. The miles seem so much less and are infinitely more tolerable thanks to them.  
I sit and chat in my driveway unwilling to let on that I’m home, so our call won’t come to an end just yet, savouring the moment we have together.

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