if we rise another hundred feet into the immaculate air and scan what lies beneath and ahead , we see kettle moraines , coulees , blunted hills furry with pines , loam-rich valleys invisible from ground level until you have come upon them , meandering rivers , miles-long patchwork fields , and little towns one of them , centralia , no more than a scattering of buildings around the intersection of two narrow highways , 35 and 93 .