“Nature is not a place to visit. It is home.”
― Gary Snyder, Poet, Environmental Activist
At about 10 minutes after seven p.m., I was airborne and heading to the flint hills. I had no agenda; just a desire to explore the PrairyErth.
Frustrated with my inability to pluck the correct words to describe the nature of the nature, I picked a course about 600 feet off the ground and followed a scratched dirt road and relied on my camera to fill words to you.
Mankind having made bales of hay, from the prairie grass. A valley cuts through the land. A small forest surrounded by the prairie. A ravine; maybe a gulch if a little bigger: where the heavy water of the last few months had cut a new edge to the prairie?
And then I spy some old mankind evidence.
What is this? It is a homestead with a cellar carved into the side of the hill. How long has it been abandoned?
No; I’m not telling where this is. Or maybe I did: the flint hills; PrairyErth? Away from the airport?
I reversed course and returned to the airport. My daughter rolled in to pick me up as the sun set.