I miss the prairie.
the yellow golden waves that seem to go on forever.
And if you stare long enough
you can see the eternal.

I used to stand at the top of the bleachers
on the precipice of my youth and watch dense clouds
rolling in with
sharp flecks of lightning buried in their mass.
Time is immutable when all you can ever see is horizon

In those days
standing on the fringe of the future
watching the electric possibilities billowing towards me
I knew I’d have to follow my nomadic heart
which yearns to roam
and find new hearths

As I get older,
the horizon gets muddled
and the city-scape constantly surprises me with
thundering storms I can’t see coming

When it gets to be too much, I have to return
to the prairie, my sanctuary

and remember where it all began.

Sanctuary

image: http://thisherelight.com/post/124954893601/prairie-storm-over-canola-fields-alberta-im

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