Lynn Schmidt says
she saw You once as prairie grass,
Nebraska prairie grass,
she climbed out of her car on a hot highway,
leaned her butt on the nose of her car,
looked out over one great flowing field,
stretching beyond her sight until the horizon came:
vastness, she says,
responsive to the slightest shift of wind,
full of infinite change,
all One.
She says when she can't pray
She calls up Prairie Grass.
Pem Kremer
3 comments:
I have been there more often with a field of something planted by the farmer. But still making one feel a vastness and a smallness of self.
This is where we find what we're looking for - out in the natural world.
Thanks for the poem.
Mary
I remember visiting a cousin's farm on the prairies as a child - the sky went on and on forever, and Pem's poem captures it perfectly. Sunrises and sunsets were amazing, and one could see for miles.
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