The Wind Comes Over The Hills


The wind comes over the hills under a gray sky moving through the grass still dressed in its winter tans though Spring has arrived, the ground is dry and waits for a rain. The wind moves through me as well, stirs something in my spirit, something deep, something whole. I do not think, just observe and listen. I lean back against a slab of limestone that stands upright on the prairie like a tombstone, as I sit on the ground, connected to the earth. The earth here rolls with soft hills and valleys with folds and layers. Hills are tucked behind hills. The feeling it gives is gentle, it nurtures the mind, it relaxes the body, it is welcoming, it beckons me into a sense of belonging. The sun shines briefly through a break in the clouds lighting up the grass, then as quickly as it comes, it is gone. The gray returns, the wind moves through the grass, through me. I am content just to sit.

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