In the last decade I’ve made several trips out to the Great Plains—the land east of the Rockies, and west of the 98th meridian. It's the one place in America where I feel a strong connection to the land and nature. The wail of coyotes and the glow of constellations fill the plains with simple graces: the rustle of wind in a stand of cottonwoods, the radiance of light on the Big Sioux River, and the flicker of shadows among abandoned houses. I became fascinated by the prairie churches that were often far off the main roads. Filled with shimmering light, they stood out like beacons in the far distance; and I spent several weeks finding some of them and photographing their austere, yet radiant beauty. I fly into Rapid City, South Dakota, or Omaha, Nebraska, or Denver, Colorado, and I just drive for days, photographing prairie fires or a storm or a quiet church or a small town.