The town I work in has a pulp mill.
I hesitated before writing that, because the pictures people invariably get in their heads once you say those words is more Allentown - gloomy, forbidding, a smudge in the sky casting a pall over everything and less like the town actually is. Really, it's just an industry in one area of town,* not a giant building looming over the landscape.
To make the pulp they use wood chips. Trucks full of wood chips trundle up and down the hilly streets, blasting your nose with the quick-dissipating scent of fresh-cut wood.
The backs of the trucks, you see, are made almost like a big wire cage. To get the chips out, the mill has a giant slide that hoists the trucks up in that air until gravity prevails and all the wood falls out. (here.)
Tonight I was toodling home behind an empty truck after a long day's work, idly watching the wind catch some chip bits - and then the sun gleamed just so, making it look like bright coins were skittering ahead of me on the highway.
A nice drive home.
*And it used to support a lot more workers than now, too. A pity, that.