Driving #30, on Kerouac?s path, I could feel the road climb out of the prairies onto the high plains well before I noticed the absence of trees, or even, generally, green; for away from a water course, by late summer the high plains are seldom green.
And even then it isn?t the absence of trees: what holds you then is the presence of an enormous, all-encompassing sky, a sky with nowhere to hide, naked to the horizon in every direction.
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