Where The Prairie Meets the Pine

I lie on my back on the ground, in the morning chill, feeling under me soft soil, soft grass, at the base of a hill, enjoying the silent thrill, where the prairie meets the pine, where the land rises and doesn’t stop til it reaches a mountain’s spine, above me I see a blue sky, I see a magpie fly, I lie by a lone scraggly pine,  the low sun is behind, and when I sit up my shadow and the tree’s nearly intertwine,  I am a human, alone, in a wild, then I lie back down, my head now on a pillow of stone and I doze for a bit wondering what this place was like before, before humans arrived through nature’s door


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