The Weight of the Plains

There is a particular kind of silence that exists only where the earth meets the sky without interruption. It is not an absence of sound, but a presence of space. In the north, we learn to measure distance by how much of the horizon we can hold in our eyes before the cold forces us to look down. To stand in such a place is to realize that we are merely passing through, temporary guests in a landscape that does not require our acknowledgment to exist. We build fences, we mark boundaries, we name the creatures that roam the scrub, yet the land remains indifferent to our definitions. It simply waits. It holds its breath in the grey light of dawn, indifferent to the heat or the frost, existing in a state of perfect, unhurried patience. What remains of us when we finally stop trying to own the view?

Kari Cvar has captured this stillness in the image titled Colorado Antelope. The animals stand as if they are the only ones who truly understand the scale of the plains. Does the silence feel as heavy to you as it does to them?