These unremarkable little draws on the prairie are wildlife havens, and for some reason a “draw” on my own soul to explore. I could walk a dry creek bed for miles in search of treasures – perhaps an arrowhead, a colorful stone or an antique bottle cap – remnants of eons past, crossing paths with the ancients, a thin place to another dimension. I feel the shift in my own reality. It feels familiar, like I’ve been here before. Feels like home, and I wonder if these trees remember me.
Pawnee Grassland
Crow Valley
