In defense of whatever happens next, the navy of flat-bottomed pop-
corn clouds steams over like they are floating down a river we're un-
der. To the west, red cliffs, more pasture, the blue Medicine Bow with
stretchmarked snowfields, quartzite faces like sunny bone. I'm worried
about Lyle getting back from town with his oxygen, but then I see him
through binoculars turn the Studebaker, antlike, off the county road
and up the four-mile grade, so small down there that I want to imagine
his hands on the wheel, still strong, his creased blue jeans and high-
top shoes I know he wears to town. He turns off the road on a small
knoll about halfway up and stops the truck, facing the mountains. He
still looks small against so much space, but I can see his left arm and
shoulder and the brim of his hat lowered as he lights a smoke and
looks off toward the mountains, and small countries of light and dark
rush across the prairie towards him and over him.
7 thoughts on “Small Countries”
Love this image and the position you took this photograph.
So visually pleasing: the furrowed field, the hills, the road, the poles and the dust trail. Great capture!
A wonderful picture!
This was absolutely fascinating. I’m going to have to look at it a couple more times. It struck a chord, somehow.
Interesting landscape with fields. I like it.
Just perfect. I love the cloud of dust. It makes me wonder if there’s an old truck speeding along a dirt road.
I love the rural feel, that sense of space and quiet…
This is peaceful and beautiful.