The land looks flat, unrelenting. But if you walk you will find a slow relief. There are hidden pockets, hidden only by the distance between you and them. Waiting. You stand on an empty highway and the world stretches endlessly from your feet. It begins and ends with you and exists only as long as you believe in it. You are the hinge and the world swings upward from you. You throw your head back. Above you the sky comes to a point of rich cerulean and leeches toward the edges, bleeding to death. You look to the horizon always running away from you and around and back again and never out of breath. There is endless sun here and endless horizon and endless life and endless round world drawing you on and on into her breast. Maybe this is why medieval Europeans thought the earth was flat – they couldn’t see her breathing.
This is Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota. This is Saskatchewan and The Moon. This is big sky country.
Stay up all night:
These are places that have spectacular storms. The sky splits asunder and the thunder is as god’s voice. The air is full of the sky, and it sits heavy on your skin. The electricity the humidity the heat. You can feel the weather in the way you breathe, on your neck, exhaling near your ear. It lives in your spine. And somehow this is a function of the land. The openness and directness of the dirt beneath your feet and being able to see to the end of vision in every direction makes you one with the air the weather the sky.
The intimacy of the air and the nakedness of the land are hypnotizing. The drone of car tires on the road. You have found the sky. You are lost in the sky. You move forward and on and forward. You become driving.