Many people think that the Great Plains and the prairies are boring because they are so uniform: unending, unchanging, lifeless; nothing but an endless stretch of flat grass and mosquitoes. (They're right about the mosquitoes.) In reality, the prairie is a land of tensions and contrasts, and therein lies its real beauty. The prairies I roamed as a little jackrabbit lay at the base of the Rocky Mountains, and above that endless stretch of golden grass is an endless sky, so deep blue you could swim in it; and in that sky are an endless parade of clouds fleeing as fast as the ripples through the golden tide below, casting shadows over the grass which glide, like ships, over the ground. And in the seeming stillness and peace of the flatlands lurks the ever-present threat of the prairie storm, one of the most amazing feats of raw power God's ever given mortal man.
When I was in Laramie, I was treated to an amazing display of weather-- in fact, a prairie storm which swallowed up the plains and spun off tornadoes to the north of town. Here are a few shots of that storm so you can see it for yourself as it rolled towards, and through, Laramie:
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