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.