Prairie Flyer – Part III
Harley turns sharply, downs the towel, grabs his beer
saying ‘Hi’ to the lady in his jovial ‘gear’
and. I, too, have risen….”hi, I’m Jake.” I say
as we grab for her jacket in a dizzying way
and she smiles….illuminating all the room.
Now Harley, being Harley, with his humor, sometimes crude,
in a smile says ‘nice boots’ and I look for a changing mood
but she thanks him graciously and continues to scan the room
and joins me at the counter bar as Harley grabs a broom
and she could hold the thought no more, “Are the beans done yet?”
“Almost, ma’am, maybe a stir or two,” Harley quips,
“Where ya headed?’ he asks, bringing the beer to his lips.
“I’m headed over Ogallala way, up in Keith County,
for one last show before winter….a show for Elga Browney.
Do you know her, Harley?”
“I’ve heard the name,” Harley says, sitting the beer on the bar.
Then leaving for the girls’ room, she says.…”by the way, my name is Star.”
as I remember, now, the star on her scarf, caught against the wing
that almost got away from her…. before the final fling
from the wind…. that returned it to her arms.
(continue Prairie Flyer – Part IV
Prairie Flyer – Part II
Then as I turned toward the counter’s bar,
the pilot started down and I noticed the star
on the scarf that the wind had placed on the wing
and getting it….the pilot was trying everything
but the wind, it seemed, was winning.
Then what I saw was hard to believe
as she stepped from the cockpit and tugged at her sleeve
taking off her cap….her hair falling down….
in long strands of blond, nearly touching the ground….
the white scarf flew wildly to her hands.
Gripped tight by pause, my eyes fixed in fear,
I awaken from my stupor from the feel of cold beer
that’s spilled on my hands as I head for my seat
at the counter in the back of the room…. where the heat
will feel good when she comes through the door.
I look towards where Harley is tending his beans,
stirring them vigorously…. some reaching his jeans….
the stove plates glowing brightly in oranges and red
as the wind wails and whistles at the smell of fresh bread
then it’s gone… the door opens….”Hi, guys.”
(to be continued….Part III)
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.
copyright © 2011 T.J. Gargano