"He who has eyes to see, . . .

The Kansas one-room schoolhouse (below) stood on a hilltop ( an odd place to put it considering the blistering hot wind most of the year and the freezing blustery wind in the winter) from which hundreds of miles of prairie spread in every direction. There were two homes in view. The playground is just about the right size.
I've been reading Kathleen Norris's book, Dakota, written in the tradition of the Desert Fathers' mystical view of reality. She loves the monastical and mystical in landscapes, so she writes of deserts, and grasses, and wind--the elementals. It all has to do with the seeing. She relates describing her beloved Dakota plains to a friend from New York, who replied, "But what is there to see?" Norris replies, " Nothing. Land, sky, and the everchanging light. . .it's like looking at an ocean. . . .Here the eye learns to appreciate slight variations, the possibilities inherent in emptiness."
She quotes Michael Martone. "The midwestern landscape is abstract, and our response to the geology of the region might be similar to our response to the contemporary walls of paint in museums. We are forced to live in our eye." This brings to mind the awesome new Kansas City Art Museum addition--three huge white boxes sunken into green hillsides and slashed by windows of light. Quiet Riot. Walking Eyeballs.