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One blazing summer afternoon, with temperatures in the mid-90's, I drove
north up Interstate-25 on my way to the Pawnee National Grassland.
Traveling with no particular agenda, as I often do, I headed towards the
Wyoming border and took a right at Rockport, just shy of the Chalk Bluffs.
With towering cumulus clouds building in my rear view mirror, the world
changed as soon as I left the interstate. Lark buntings and vesper
sparrows burst from grass to fence post, then back again, mocking my
attempts to make a photograph. Small bands of male pronghorn tolerated my
presence in the vehicle, while females with fawns fled immediately. I
spotted a nighthawk on a fencepost, investigated badger burrows and
marveled at Swainson's hawk fledglings circling overhead, nearly ready for
their return trip to Argentina.
Clouds twisted in
artistic shapes over the Chalk Bluffs, better than any Impressionist
painting, while more serious storm clouds drifted across the Wyoming
border.
That evening, the Pawnee
Buttes lit up like coals as the sun dropped behind the Rockies, eventually
disappearing into a prairie night. I lingered for awhile, soaking up the
warmth on an evening that I'll never forget. |