A Sense of Place

The temperature has dropped and the smell of the corn in the cooler air is even more wonderful than before. Birds are flying overhead—veering specks too high for me to know what they are—and the sky is very pale, nearly colorless, turning to pale pink down near the band of soft gray-green haze that marks the horizon. The trees there, on the horizon, and a scattering of farm buildings and a silo seem to float in the haze, suspended and unearthly, as if in a mirage.

David McCullough, Brave Companions

This writing is so evocative. I know that feeling, that place, even though I've not been to that specific one. But I've been to the Kansas heartland, driven empty roads between small towns, experienced it. My memories entail wheat fields with waves like a golden ocean as the wind drives through it. It carries me back in time.