The Horizon

The population of South Dakota hovers around 700,000 people. There is a comparable number of cattle. As a result, the people of my community can easily be forgiven for shaking their heads and asking with dismay, "How can you stand all those people?" when I tell them that I spend most of the year in the Twin Cities. It is true that after a summer away, I feel a little cramped upon returning to St. Paul. Nevertheless, the population of the metro area does not constitute the greatest hardship for me. Rather, it is the lack of a horizon. Living in the Mississippi River Valley, one's view of the sky is limited to what is directly overhead. This can make for long and gloomy winters when the Minnesota gray settles over the land in November and fails to lift until mid-April. During those times, I miss the horizon. I miss being able to see for miles and miles. I miss the assurance of clear skies in that is provided to me when I look out from a lonely hill and see the lights of town some distant places sixty miles away. But most of all, I miss the sunset. There is nothing like a sunset - the gold melting into pink melting into violet melting into black - stretching out for miles and miles. The Twin Cities can offer many things, and I like it here, but the sunsets just don't compare. Occasionally, though, this city surprises me and gives me a little taste of what I know from home. The photo accompanying this post was taken by a seminarian from Nebraska (with a similar perspective on the topography of Minnesota ). In it, the sun is rising and reflecting off the buildings on the Minneapolis skyline. It isn't a South Dakota sunset, but it is beautiful nonetheless.