Springtime Prairie
A cold wind upon my face
and soul.
but not the cold of death.
a bracing cold, expectant and chill
like aftershave
new life about to leap forth;
the only breath not held: that of the wind.
In every direction, to the limits of vision:
grass
sky
cows
a tree - all shivering with icy vibrancy.
In utter solitude,
huddled in my pea coat on a shaggy horse,
I feel my soul surge, expand and swell
as if to fill the limitless expanses before me.
My held breath now released;
a sigh of relief to join that of the wind:
Winter is over.
for wings
Upon a low hill
I stood in my center of a plain.
Frozen waves of earth roll out from me to the horizon.
Unbroken undulation of greeny grass,
waist high and trackless.
Though my eye assay, nothing interrupts the beautiful monotony.
Upon a windy swell
A golden hawk flew in his center of the sky.
Clouds like errant thoughts scoot about for reasons of their own.
Azure æthyr and pale puffs,
mixed and intermingled.
Uninterrupted, the hawk soared in simplicity.
With abrupt suddenness, he dove purposefully from my sight.
What does he see that I will never know?
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