Sometimes I write something and then afterwards think of how the opposite is just as true.

After deriding the flatness or one dimensionality of the prairie, I thought of how I could not LIVE there, but how the beauty of the simple line is inescapable. How gorgeous one line can be – it’s art at it’s essence. The first mark I make will tend to be some sort of line.

Somewhere I recall reading that the straight line is man-made. That nature never exhibits a straight line. I’m assuming that there is distance involved in that idea – that if I backed up far enough, the horizon itself would bend. And yes, when I pull the camera back a bit, my line does bend. That is beautiful too: