The Prairie Is My Garden

Who is that rider so early in the afternoon?

The wind is cool but the heat

Beneath is frightening

Too many clouds in the sky

What is it? The Norwegian boy

With his father’s horse?

The pastor, or someone from the bank?

The flowers – they are enough, time to go back in

Western skies parallel western lands

Endless, stretching onto forever, seeing miles from a good spot

Empty and rich – with color, with life with dangers

The land parallels the sky –

They are alive, and they are related

Close kin, almost twins

Rain and scorching sun, and the tornado

Crops and drought and locusts

We take what we can,

We live as we must

But the prints seldom last

For we, like the flowers in her hand

Fade in time.

The semester that I took a creative writing course, one of the assignments for the day was to visit the on-campus art museum, and write a few pieces based on the works that were on display at the time. The Prairie Is My Garden has always been a favorite of mine, and this is one of the things I wrote that day.