The golden hour light was particularly generous that evening, bathing the Wichita landscape in a warm, amber glow. I positioned my Sony camera firmly on the tripod, utilizing the remote shutter release to minimize any shake. The scene before me unfolded: a vast prairie pasture punctuated by the familiar red granite boulders, with distant granite hills rising against a breathtakingly clear blue sky. The air was crisp and quiet, carrying the scent of winter.
It’s moments like these that I feel a deep connection to the land—a sense of stewardship born from a reverence for God’s creation. This vista echoes Momaday’s emphasis on spatial vastness and the enduring presence of the land. Like Jacobson, I’m drawn to the geometric patterns of the boulders and the layered strata of the hills. Harjo reminds us of the interconnectedness of all things; here, the light, the stone, the grasses, the sky, all interwoven in a tapestry of divine grace. It’s a quiet joy, a profound thankfulness, a moment held sacred.
Carl Ray