Cow patties and dry hay. Dust from the endless dirt roads swirl up into your eyes.  The land waves back and forth as the wind blows through the prairie, flowing seamlessly into the sea. The yellow and black bird perch on gnarled fence posts away from the dangers lurking in the shadows of the overgrown grass. The old farmers have left, into the cities or into the ground. The bird hit by the pickup barreling across the highway, returns to earth. Everything left behind now belongs to the soil.

The anxiety of silence consumes these places, nowhere to be watched and everywhere to hide. I pulled into an enormous farm and started chatting with the owner’s son. He saw movement in the distance and ran into the house, returning with an AR-15. Within seconds two foxes were dead. I felt the shift in the earth when humans completely consume a place. Everytime I tried to sneak up to a Meadowlark along a fence, it would disappear. The flapping of wings dissipated into the breeze, blowing past your ears. Where does all that wind go?