Prairies

In my dreams, I fly back to those prairies, yellow grass sweeping and blowing in the wind. I was born under that wide open blue sky, stretching so far that you could see the curve of the earth on the horizon. Where the sunset lasts for hours because the sun has no mountains to hide behind, only the curve of the earth to dip below at last.

The prairies never leave me, no matter how long I live sandwiched between mountains. Beauty reigns on those gorgeous golden fields, studded with the occasional tree or pond, pockmarked with cows and horses, bales of luxuriously yellow hay curled up on the never-ending stretches of land.

Days when I am trapped inside, when I can gaze out the window and see the wind blowing, but not feel it on my face, when the sun is hiding behind storm clouds grumbling high up in the sky, I imagine my home. Standing in those fields of gold, the wind whipping through my hair, the sunset warm on my face, painting the sky with a pastel rainbow.

It may not be where I live or want to live anymore, but it is where my cowgirl heart dwells.  It is a part of me, just as much as my hand or my foot. I feel a desperate longing when I cross those jagged peaks that separate the prairies from the hills and see those beautiful plains for the first time in forever.

Close your eyes, listen to the frogs and crickets croak and chirp out a deafening symphony in the late summer sunset. Feel the wind on your cheeks, the sun on your forehead. Love where you are, because the world is beautiful.

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