As much as I love the mountains, it is the prairie where I have lived all my life. And the prairie is full of mystique and wonder, even today with all the sprawling communities that have compromised its uniqueness. Still, it is fun to find a quiet spot on a quiet night ‘neath a million stars and, sitting there, listen for a hoot owl, or a coyote’s call or deer side-swiping through the thicket. Listen….
A cradle moon hangs quietly, spinning moonbeams in the sky.
A field mouse sees its twinkle in an owl’s distant eye.
And a beaver in the creek and a possum in a tree,
go on with what they’re doing, made easier by the light
that comforts those sleeping in the quiet prairie night.
The hooting of a hoot owl spears the thick and silent dark,
joined in chorus, sometimes, by a dog’s faint distant bark.
A fox guards his borough from raccoon near by
skirmishing for food, their eyes shining bright,
piercing the darkness of the late prairie night.
A sudden gust of wind brings a murmur from the trees
as the darkened, shadowy sentinels are startled by the breeze.
A doe and her babies sneak quietly to the stream,
ever so cautious of what lurks in the light
sent from above to adorn the prairie night.
The sky is full of twinkling stars,
streaks of clouds are high and thin.
The moon is brightly shining but
where is the prairie wind?
The trees stand in silence.
The crickets chirp in tune.
Haze hides the horizon
as a mystical stillness looms.
Farmstead lights shine faintly
like the city lights from afar.
The prairie night is winning
but the prairie morn’s, not far.