Sitting in Owensboro, Kentucky, at the gate of a Kimberley Clark plant. Have been here for about an hour, waiting to get in. I was told that they're doing a “yard check,” and that I would be allowed in only after they were finished.

I'm writing because next to us is a large field of wheat. In the distance is a line of trees. I was just sitting here, staring out the window, when it suddenly struck me that it's rather pretty out here. We spend so much time hustling from one place to another that it's easy to forget that some of the places we go are very beautiful. We have become disconnected.