From Utah to Indiana: A meditation on foliage.

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“I didn’t bring you 3,000 miles not to have you rave about the scenery!” – Ralph Bradford Romney (My grandpa)  

When we left Utah, we left towering mountains with rock faces. We left short scrubby trees and descended into the grassy plains of Wyoming. Flat and scrubby with the occasional rolling hill. And the sky unfurled above us–widening and widening over our heads until it swallowed half of everything.

The grass became corn and as Wyoming became Nebraska, humidity washed over us. The air stopped seeping moisture from us and started to give it back in sticky sweat and dew dripping from our car in the morning as we left the motel. A toad hopped past us–no body of water in sight–as if to declare that the only water he needed was water he could squeeze from the air.

Then we drove into Missouri. Hills became more round and green on top of green rolled on top. Plants clung and billowed from each other and separated only when forced apart. Into Indiana, the corn continued on and on. Hills flattened down. The wild beaten back. Corn for miles. Corn until the end of the earth. The earth is flat. There is no break. Corn. Soybeans. Corn. Corn. Corn.

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