DAWN Willa Cather Memorial Prairie, June
DAWN Dawn is a daily visitor, Creeping silently over the earth. Her fingers reach between cool moist leaves And drop splatters of sunshine on the ground below. Dawn’s near-silent voice wakens beast and fowl with, “You are unique. You are of worth.” Blossoms open to relish Dawn’s sweetness. And one by one, robins join her in her song. Dawn paints the sky as no painter can. With each stroke of her brush She paints naught colors, But rather hues of Life and Mystery and Eternity. Dawn will never be captured Nor stopped for a second, even. She can only be embraced As she moves over the globe to change something within each of us. --Lolly Thomas Willa Cather Memorial Prairie, June (For Laura and Bob Roybal, Red Cloud residents, who took me there) We park near the marker. I step out of the car, expect lonely Nebraska silence but hear the hymn of lowing cattle invisible behind the Kansas border, signalling six hundred eight sacred acres lying at our feet, commemorative gift to an artist's greatness. We make our way down grazed trails at 6 a.m., day breaking under a silver curtain's blinding rim, gun-metal clouds transforming into navy hues, unexpected rumbles above us, fragile turf our carpet, slanted beams, sunrays angling down like floodlights. Entwined roots, densely knitted ecosystem, surround us on all sides. We spot a wooly caterpillar, a ladybug, touch between our fingers velvet-soft silvery leaves, yellow blossom of butterfly milkweed, hear humming bees, the chirping, buzzing of busy insects, staccato melodies of finches, larks, flycatchers.
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