Space, Place and Soul
Something in this landscape calls out to me.
The prairies my vagabond parents
Ceased to call home after they wed,
But the weekend visits, holiday celebrations and
And long indolent summer vacations
Turned this red dirt into the
North Star of my existence.
Something in this landscape calls out to me.
The clouds shadowing the rolling wheat fields
Turning from a hint of green to the waving gold.
The scents of the seasons, each distinct to its
Own time and memory.
Something in this landscape calls out to me.
As I leave the interstate and turn onto the shoulderless
Two lane highway with its arterial dirt roads and
Tractors left in the middle of the fields and
Cattle lazily welcoming me with their stares,
I hear the deep interior response as my soul
Answers, "I'm home! I'm home!"
Homa
