Prairie

 
I love to watch the tall-grass prairie gently waving
In the heat of the August sun. It’s dry and the grass
Is close to death, but full of seed that will spring
To life after the freeze of the winter and bring
Life back to the great American desert.

At a distance it looks soft like fine fresh hair
From the head of a newborn baby as it billows
And wanes with the breeze, but it is sharp and brittle,
Course and unpleasant to the touch. The harshness
Has bred it this way, unforgiving stringy and tough.

It’s a warm comforting embrace to the birds
And small animals that seek shelter from the cold, and
Those that would have them for lunch. It is safe, a
Cradle for their young in those fragile first months
Before they burst out and claim this land as their own.

The April rains come as winter fades to memory, and
Soaks the hard earth. The grasses grow to become mother
Again, covering the ground, reaching up as it paints
The clouds on the sky with soft gentle strokes.