It's 8 PM and the evening breeze has cooled the west Kansas wheat fields to 88 degrees, down from 100 degrees just an hour and a half earlier. It looks cooler than it is, because an ocean of spring wheat has wind waves rolling towards me giving the illusion of the surf coming in. Instead of seagulls there are doves, meadowlarks, orioles, finches and a host of other song birds chirping and singing. A frog joins in with the chorus of crickets to let anyone listening know that a quiet evening on the plains is alive with life.
A ladybug lands on my arm, and I wonder why she picked me. In the setting sun light, swirls of tiny insects appear to fly aimlessly as if they are having a party. I watch closely. They don't seem to be going anywhere or doing anything in particular except to zigzag, circle, and dive among each other like children silently playing in a yard.
Two draft horses, coming to get a drink, join a herd of cows grazing contently near a pond. The windmill is silent now after a day's work. It is too old to be moved by the gentle breeze, but the water tank is full, so it's work is done until tomorrow. Now that it is cooler, my dog has come out from her shady spot to investigate all of the smells that only dogs are aware of. I'm sure that there are ground hogs, raccoons, gophers, and other animals starting their day as I end mine.
As the sun slowly descends, it becomes larger and redder, enhanced by the wisps of clouds that it must penetrate. I watch it burn the last of the distant horizon with a brilliant red and orange. In the distance I see and hear the traffic on Interstate 70 as people and products travel east and west, unaware of this world around them. Earlier I was traveling among them, listening to my books on tape and oblivious to this much more serene and satisfying world. I must stop earlier and more often, for when I am traveling I miss so much.