Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Waves of Grass

The prairie is like the ocean in many ways.  It just is what it is.  It cares about nature, about rain, and summer, and winter, but doesn’t give one instant of thought about man.  Not caring about whether the pioneer lived or died, or whether he was Scot or Irish, slave or freeman, white, or Native American, or any other color, it just waited patiently for us to keep moving and being about our business.  If the prairie could laugh, we could hear it in utter hysterics about all of our childish uproar about racial supremacy, borders, walls, flags, religion, gold-colored buildings, and any of the other minutia we silly beings inflate our feelings of self-importance with.  After a bit of fleeting time, we little beings will be under the prairie, and without a thought about us, the prairie will just continue to be what it is.  We, on the other hand, with all our issues, and prejudices, and opinions, and demands, we will be not.  Maybe we just need to chill and enjoy life while we can.

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