I’m on a hill on Fischbach Ranch,
A quarter mile north of the house,
In the North pasture:

From here, I can see a hundred miles
Across the prairie to the west
Until the grassy expanse falls under the horizon
With the sunset.

Here, if I’m not looking at waves of grass 
In the South Dakota wind,
I’m looking at blue sky --
All the sky that God ever made.

On this hill, I can stretch my eyes,
Smell the freshness of rain before it starts,
Hear the chipper twitter of meadowlarks,
And taste the metallic power of the wind as it gusts up my nose.

From this place, everything that exists is God’s creation.
I feel small and important at the same time.