Prairie grasses stretch in two directions. Their roots zig-zag deep into the soil keeping it earth bound while their skinny arms above ground stretch toward the low sun. The long stocks do not want the radiant warmth to disappear.
As the sun fades into the horizon the grasses bow down as though in prayer and in anticipation of heavy dew that will surely gather overnight this early spring eve. Meadowlarks sing to the golden skyline asking for just a bit more time to share their joy of living on the plains.
A pallet of pastel clouds and pale sky arch above my head. Only subtle rises of amber knolls and silhouetted birds perched on thistle stocks breakup the linear horizon encircling me 360 degrees.
The sun vanishes from the western sky leaving the wind to whisper in dusk. The birds find invisible roosting locations while crickets start up their nightly chirping. The sound is familiar like a parent telling the same bedtime story and sooths me as I lay in my sleeping bag, waiting for night to carry me away.