“The red of the grass made all the great prairie the color of wine-stains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. . . .
    I wanted to walk straight on through the red grass and over the edge of the world, which could not be very far away. The light air about me told me that the world ended here: only the ground and sun and sky were left, and if one went a little farther there would be only sun and sky, and one would float off into them, like the tawny hawks which sailed over our heads making slow shadows on the grass.”

—Willa Cather, My Antonia, 1920.