The day was clear and bright. There were only a few passing whispers of clouds. Of course, the wind was blowing. Out on the prairie, it blew constantly.
The continual southern wind pushed the tall grass over. These gold-colored blades of native grass lay nearly to the ground. Overall, it was a gorgeous day out on the high plains.
As far as the eye could see, there was grass. It covered the hills as they rose slightly, then fell away into the shallow valleys they formed. Colorful wildflowers dotted the otherwise desolate landscape. They created yellow and purple swatches that also danced in the wind.
Europeans that first saw this land called it the American desert. Water was scarce, and living out here took a lot of work. And impossible for some. Many who tried to make homes out here suffered from “Prairie Madness,” a deep depression that caused many to leave and head back East.
White Feather was always happy to see a wagon headed east. “Good, go home. This is mine,” he would yell into the wind.
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