A soft breeze flows through an open prairie, the wild grass sways from the light touch of hot air on its brittle stem. Blooming wild flowers litter the stoic grassland like trash in a parking lot; they sprout up unexpectedly with no order or pattern. The prairie stretches over the rolling hills for miles on end only breaking for sparsely driven roads lined by old wooden telephone poles that seem to never end, they just stay parallel forever around the whole world. The gravel roads create a hot, thick dust whenever an old pickup truck rumbles by or when the soft breeze turns to a gale force wind, whipping the dust around in the air producing small dust devils that twist and turn in a spastic, exuberant, and jubilant manor but only for a few moments.

The sky slowly begins to weep leaving translucent puddles scattered along the roadside. As the earth steams from the cool precipitation, the mosquitoes and toads begin to arise from seemingly nothing. Their sweet serenade fills the warm, moist air bringing the true essence of spring to southwest Nebraska.