We live on an invisible planet. All of this is meant to empower us as never before, but at the same time it cuts us off from the rest of the planet so much that for many, the Earth has become invisible. There is a kind of raging quality to the Kansas prairie.
Roots pull deep on the bedrock, swelling the soils thick.
Grasses twist and reel in the persistent winds like thousands of mourners wailing to the heavens, and if you listen, you can hear them whispering in the language of blade against blade. Look across the Flint Hills horizon and you don't see the hills rising up into the sky so much as see them plunging down into the earth. Look straight down to the ground in front of you and see a tangled web of life that bursts with languages and abstractions beyond human patterns. There is a healing quality to the Kansas prairie. The dew-laden hairs on the leaves of a prairie rose bathe the legs of a bumblebee intoxicated with the heavy scent of the blossom.