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Sunrise seen thru the back door of my pick up out and over the great midwestern interstate. Where big-rigs thunder past in irregular intervals the eerie morning hours of 18 wheels whining against the concrete. Burrowed deep in my goose down bag breathes rise in great steaming clouds to the ceiling. And so squinting into a new day of nebraska sun I decide on another hour or so of sleep. Someplace that same sun is setting while the great glowing white omaha moon is drawing up off of their horizons a heavenly ghost that gave fourth earlier to me the guidance of a snow drifts flow southern minnesota disappearing into fog. Our days differing only in where we view them from. The west becomes a clear eyed blue sky shimmering mirage and contrasts the cloudy mundane coverage of a minnesota i'd come to know. and on overpass a line of boxcars stretch unbroken between northern and southern horizons an antique vision of the way our american world moved originally west. Just road in the rear view a country half gone already in half days time. And there it is the horizon of jagged white peaks raking at thinning western air, trailing pluming tails of clouds from the top.