Thunder Beneath the Sky 🦬🌾

Before the fences. Before the highways. Before the sky was divided by wires.

The Plains breathed.

And with that breath came them.

At first it is only a tremor — a quiet shiver through tall prairie grass. Then the earth begins to speak. Hooves. Hundreds. Thousands. A living river of muscle and fur rolling beneath a horizon so wide it feels eternal.

Dust rises in golden light. Calves press close to their mothers. Massive bulls move like ancient guardians, dark silhouettes against a burning sunset. They do not rush. They move with purpose. With memory.

The herd is not chaos. It is order. Rhythm. Survival.

Storm clouds gather in the distance, and the sky grows enormous — blue turning indigo, sunlight cutting through in radiant shafts. The bison do not fear it. They belong to it. 🌩️