After all the brilliant colors of fall have faded, grayness conquers the sky.
Still beneath are some rich browns and reds: cotton, milo, and, every now and then, a bright green field of winter wheat.
I cut through the countryside today, just for a close-up look at the windmills, the crumbling farm houses, and the straight gravel road.
It follows fence posts down to the draw, then swerves to cross the bridge.
"There's nothing prettier than black cows on a green field with white windmills in the background", say the farmers around here, "unless it's black oil and a long buried pipeline." You've gotta love 'em.