There standing between the prairie and the forest
The storm violently cracks together the branches overhead
Creating darker recesses from within
Prairie grass is speckled with abundant small flowers…Orange ~ Purple ~ White
The month can be called by the carpet color mingled in the grass ~ It is purple ~ August.
Tall reeds of bluestem bent against breezes of the failing sun
As a step is taken into the waist-high grasses
Your shadow dances along with the movement of the wind
The field cracks open with each well-placed footfall
The forest attempts to swallow you whole — the howling cyclone’s vortex snarls at your back — Your body leans forward
Straining against what shackles you along the edge
Only a few feet from peace and quietness of the gold cast horizon
I stand in the middle of waves of grass, feeling the brush of feather lightness as it catches the turn of my leg
The white thin cotton blouse pressed into my skin from the onslaught of cumulus clouds being pushed across the blue sky as the forest continues to exhale
My dark hair tangling as I hold it away from my face with one sun-kissed hand
While I raise the other to shield my eyes, to search along the line of trees ~ Scanning for your movement as you pass through pushing to the edge
Do you sense me waiting, watching

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