Long ago, before the day of modern farm equipment, a prarie farmer was capable of plowing straight furrows.
"How?" I asked myself this morning.
At daybreak, he would ascend a hill, climbing until he reached its peak. With the expanse of the praire beneath him, he would drive a stake conspicously marked by flag into the high ground. Then, traveling downward, he would make his way back to his plow.
With an arduous day of work ahead, in the golden heat of early morning, he looked only to the flag. Pressing ahead - a remarkably straight path behind him - he would plow until he reached his destination.
I think that's pretty profound.