Nebraska...land of straight roads and soy

Sometimes driving alone, I find myself enjoying the things that are so common, so usual, so ordinary. Like the sweet smell of rain showers that take me back home to lazy summer afternoons. The hypnotic repetition of delineator posts. How Nebraska seems half full of corn, half full of old tired looking barns, but all the way full of I-80 running like a silver stream to the horizon. The excitement about the destination and what is to come. The gentle ping of bugs losing their fight with a windshield. Corn rows quickly comng into and going out of focus at a dizzing pace. The earthy and rich smell of feedlots- "That's the smell of money, kids." Humid air that is almost tangible and weighty. Heat haze looking like a tiny pool in the middle of a black sea of asphalt. The rumble of a semi, like a gaint woken from slumber. The neon yellow and green spats of insects, like a Pollock on my windshield. Dust bits and chaff thrown by the farmers mowing the median; how sweet that smell of grass, and dust, and summertime is. The heinous zing and startle of the rumble strips as my tires fly over them. The quiet charm of towns that once were but are now shadows of the past-forgotton and forlorn. The calm that surrounds as the sun quickly dips past the horizon and makes the world a wash of vermillion, scarlet, ruby, tangerine, and saffron.