Morning on the winter prairie. A cold wind swept through brown stalks of dead grass. Crystal clear pale sky. A brightness that blinds. Beautiful. Walked the dog across the lonely landscape then went out alone for a good long time. Stood at the base of a rise on the prairie. A wind-swept sky and bare tree line rose behind the barn. The roar of wind in the pines was almost like voices. One hawk circled overhead. I remembered again the peace that only comes from natural places, wild places, out under God’s sky. The bitter cold and strong wind did not seem to matter. The sun was a brilliant white fire glinting off the frozen pond. I did not want to leave.