This week we're in Lethbridge, Alberta. It's prairie country. Outside the city, the crops have been harvested and the fields are yellow with stubble. When it's cloudy, the yellow is pale; when the sun breaks through, for a moment or an hour, the yellow is bright, vivid. "Amber waves of grain". Like the song.
Where I live the sky is blue sometimes. The evergreens reach skyward and the the hills also. So the sky, whether blue or gray, is accented by green, and it's a small sky.
Here in Alberta the sky is blue or gray also, but there are few trees and few hills. The sky is enormous, reaching from horizon to horizon. I feel like I'm under a vast bowl.
I've read poems about these skies and these hills, but there's nothing like seeing them. Every time I'm in a place like this - Alberta, Iowa, Nebraska were this year's places - I wish I could live here longer.
I won't, though. I like cozy green too much.
I'd like to trade houses with a prairie person for a month or two sometime. To see that sky, those fields, every day.