This South Dakota sky doesn’t pull any punches.
Even now—in early September—you can feel what’s coming:
something big, something white, something cold,
something way-below-zero cold—like 46 degrees below zero cold.
There’s a not-so-subtle hint in this wind out of the West
that soon, there will be blizzards,
the kind of horizontal ice that whips your face off
and causes you to scurry into whatever warm hole is available.
Aberdeen, South Dakota reminds me of Hard Times by E.L. Doctorow. His book has a scene where winter is coming, and, because the characters have not built a house that can withstand the brutal weather, they have dug a hole in the ground during the summer.
It’s relatively spacious and contains a vented chimney, a stove, and, of course, earthen walls.
The people here—as far as I have interacted—are friendly and welcoming. In the breakfast room at this motel, I have heard some rumbling bass voices, as if the prairie’s ground has bred a deep-voiced connection to the men who speak.
I might want to walk behind that voice when encountering some local wildlife!
And for the deep thinkers re: Jung and Gnosticism:
