Across the prairie, driving fast,
a gust of wind, I cannot pass,
I’m transfixed by rippling grass,
stop the car in this empty space,
the blades all move in staggered waves.
Cattle graze nearby, lazily,
to the motion the pay no heed,
though one stares warily at me,
but I’m still caught by the motion
of wind through this tallgrass ocean.
So different from eastern forest,
or baking desert nearly lifeless,
why should I be en rapt by this?
I who have scaled a rocky range,
seen buttes and needles, landforms strange.
Looked at canyons bigger that states,
at glaciers that smash mountains great,
how could flat grassland ever rate?
But whispered motion of stalks long
entrances me…I must gaze on.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2019
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