The only sound heard is the wind rustling through the tall dry grass of the great western High Plains. It feels as though you could walk forever and never see another living thing, but perhaps you will be lucky and see a coyote or an antelope.
Now days black stripes of pavement cut through these vast empty spaces. The occasional semi truck roars past in a wash of blustery power. People in a car loaded with luggage wave and are gone. Then all returns as before. The soft sigh of wind through grass resumes its murmur and I sigh along with it.
A solitary home is dwarfed by the vast space of the western prairie in the US.