The plains can be a lonely place unless you value the loneliness, as a chance to perceive.

The endless sea of native grasses, niches in the earth hallowed out by the wind…the coyote, and the buffalo eons ago.

A place where the sky is an ever-changing canvas of moving shapes and colors.

A land not tilled by man, but for digging of huff, horn and claw.


Man is an unwelcome disturbance here…attempting to tame, subdue… harness it’s power and beauty.

If we left, we would not be missed. Our imprint brushed away by the next storm or wildfire.


The prairie will burn and revive on its own.

We are but guest here.

Photographs by Phil Epp


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