Kin Spirit of the Prairie
Today was spent in pilgrimage on the prairie. When you live for many years in the northern woods of Wisconsin, the open prairies hold a certain mystery. There is beauty to the lush rolling green carpets. It's miraculous how the sky reaches down to the earth at the horizon, no trees to coax the energy from above, only the tall native grasses waving and reaching--reaching skyward lifting the vibration like the lark that takes flight from the tips of the seeded grain heads. Spirits soar here just as they do in the Siberian wilderness. Rays of light unite creating a golden hue over the land. Sunrise and sunset ignite the senses freeing the creative muse. Do you suppose the trees that tower over all in the great forests of the globe gather the same energy as a solitary human standing tall among the prairie grasses? I envision myself as the token tree of the prairie soaking in the universal energy of love and listening. Listening to the voices of the forebears. Voices that sing with wisdom as the wind rustles through the towering grasses while lifting and shifting strands of my hair--a reminder of how these same forebears had once caressed my cheek.