General

On the plains there were years in which old man winter refused to give up without a fight. Spring would ride in on a gentle breeze, unhindered by any hill. This April air would soothe the embattled flora with its sweet promise of the warmth to come, only to be pushed back by bitter gales and hail. But the spring was patient, always returning in the calm between each storm and each time expanding until it had ebbed out the frigid blasts entirely. Then for some months it rained down both water and soft heat. Some days could still be a blanket of cloud, like the season passed, but mostly they were sporadic and sparse - allowing the brilliant light to strike the fields unhindered. Soon the fields were not brown at all, but swathes of waving green. Always we were in an ocean of white, brown, green or gold, but it was the green I liked best - green stretching way up the mountains in the far north and to the blue of the sky in the south.

General

On the plains they called it "big sky". Unlike the city to the west that was penned in by snow-capped mountains, here you could see blue in every direction to the horizon; where it met with the golden color of the wheat. All that punctuated the dichromatic scheme was the odd lonely tree and the long strands of cloud being dragged across the sky by the wind. Terry had heard the old joke, "you can watch your dog run away for a month," and now he understood why. There really was no cover, no hills, nothing to block the view.

General

...the golden plain spread level, golden-tawny grass and golden green wheat checker-boarded in a pattern as wide as the world.

By hiccup, April 16, 2012.

Found in Two Rivers, authored by Wallace Stegner.