There’s something about the prairie across the road.
It is to the east, and so I lay my eyes on it every morning as I reflect on the fact that the earth is rolling over to the place where we can see the sun one more time. The rolling, treeless prairie affords a bare horizon, a soft curve that is exceedingly beautiful. It is so simple, so austere, so open, that it beckons to something deep within me.
Last night the prairie was golden as the dogs and I took off for a walk down the road alongside it about 6:15. The sun in the western sky cast its light on the prairie grasses, now turned from green to tans and reds and purples. And it happened again: there is something thrilling about this prairie that makes my heart sing.
This particular pasture has never been cultivated and I doubt it’s had much, if any, spraying. My dad remembers the prairie dog village there and, as a boy, walking with buckets to fetch water from its natural well. I’ve walked its low hills and gullies many times. It’s easy to remember the buffalo when I’m there.
But I don’t have to be in it to be thrilled by it. Seeing it from afar, taking in its lovely lines, its expanse, the play of light and shadow are what thrill me.
I think that is the case because it connects with something deep inside me – deep inside all of us. I think it is our very soul – like the prairie, expansive, open, light-filled. I think when I look at that vast prairie that I connect with my deepest self; the self that is part of God’s expansive, Light-filling life.
So, I realize, it is true: there is something about the prairie. And this something is no small thing; rather, it is hugely significant – a great, healing gift of Earth. Seeing the prairie, being thrilled by the prairie, makes my heart sing because it connects me to all that we – all God’s creation – are together; to vast, expansive Love.
Pat
20 October 2007
