On the prairie, the silence is deafening. The presence of the earth, overpowering. It is not unlike the ocean; forever before man.
You expect the view and motion to end, or that you would have the power to command.
If you stop, it will swallow you; interfere, the creation still churns.
There in, lies the division, between creatures and the earth.
Cast from the dust of our origin, a wedge laid at birth.
The Earth is jealous of those who brake free, and longs for their return.
All creatures know this story, repeated, through out time.
It is the poetry and glory of creation, set in perfect rhyme.
Earth and Sea watch and wait. Time will pass and they will welcome those, who lay down at their gate.
The witness’ need not share, what is seen, with others.
The witness’ gather to observe the brother.
The meadowlarks flit to find their place;
not to be still would be considered, “in bad taste.”
They remain restless and try to settle in.
The song is getting closer, “It’s almost time”…“It’s almost time.”
The larks are becoming frantic…this is going to be sublime.
For to miss this show today, would truly be a sin.
My word, son. You can write. Beautiful. Did you take the picture too?
ReplyDeleteThank you John for your encouragement, It means alot to me truely. Well no I didnt take the picture but weve both seen skies like these , right?
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