Written on the way to Denver, June 9th
On the road to Denver, stopping in western Kansas on I-70, I passed a giant farm of wind mills, and it was awesomely majestic. The flat land of Kansas was so vibrant and green, speckled with occasional yellow prairie flowers. The terrain began shifting and molding into gently rolling treeless hills, so inviting, and the sky! The vast, heavenly expanse of clear blue sky - the prairies hold a beauty so intrinsic to itself, from atop one of those hills I glimpse an amazing, universal panorama of the Kansas horizon, akin to a glimpse from space, or at least higher atmospheres.
It made me sad to be driving inside a car rather than running and frolicking among those sloping hills, leaving my cares locked safely inside this smoking mechanical beast carrying us quickly, too quickly, through some of God's most beautiful creation. Perhaps, if I sat atop on of those hills, and pondered in tranquil recollection, I could grasp the words of Keats as he wrote them atop his own hills, or wander with Wordsworth, lonely as a cloud. Ah, to be as free and vibrant as those hills. I hope the places to where I go prove as open and as green as these lands through which I now traverse.