On the Steppes of Central Asia
They say Borodin had never seen Central Asia when he composed his
symphonic poem, and neither have I. But it is the soundtrack in my
head as we ride the High Plains near Amarillo. Vast, limitless,
featureless, barely undulating. So easy to imagine the cloud of dust
approaching over the plain hides a band of fearsome Huns on their
tireless Steppe ponies, or of our own Steppes warriors, the
yet-more-fearsome Comanches. But it's just a farmer in an F250 Super
Duty
Leigh Anderson
Sent from my iPhone
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