I grew up on the prairie, ten years of my childhood.
It is a long way from characterless; "overpowering" would be a better word. The horizon a dozen miles away is as clean a line as the nearest fence. Across the immense sky move navies of cumuli, fair-weather clouds, their bottoms as even as if they had scraped themselves against the earth. These prairies are quiescent, close to static; looked at for any length of time, they begin to impose their awful perfection on the observer's mind. - Wallace Stegner, Wolf Willow
Every year, on the prairie, the Pasque flowers were the harbinger of spring. A promise of growth, blossom and beauty. Rest for the weary eye after the stark, bleak prairie winter.
-Aaron
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