Walk the prairie with me
when the call of the wild whispers
when the sunlight of the spirit beckons
when our path ambles through sparse pines
The summer sun speaks
Waves of grass flow over the wildlands
Seasoned grass, bunch grass, grass that know their own strength
Grass that mingle with wildflowers, ground squirrels, and horned larks
Grass stretching skyward, where the red-tails soar
Across this grass-scape, Coyote scampers
A chorus of bugs chants insistently
The prairie sings a ballad
of the Great White Hawk
that swoops down with golden talons,
making spirits of ground dwellers.
The black beetle’s prayer rises with the thermals
on which the White Hawk glides
The wind stops.
Where are we?
Somewhere near the heart, I believe
My flute song rolls over the ridges
and floats down the canyons
There is no reply
Our inner song already knows
We listen to the stillness
The horizon drifts away,
gathering what’s left of the sun
A cool breeze wakens the earth scent in wolves
A great-horned owl begins her night quest
Elk shadows graze in the fading golden sky
We listen to the stillness
We fall asleep in the prairie’s dream
By Frank Opila, Entry # 19
