This Landscape

Days of spraying rain have darkened the soil and coaxed green into the needle and thread grass, the blue grama, and wheatgrass.  Each morning now, a meadowlark finds station near my house and whistles sharp songs across the open spaces.  Bluebirds stitch quick flights to and from my post and pole fence.  Across the valley, low clouds snag and hold against the snowbound peaks of the Elkhorn Mountains.

I have always had a sense of place.

No.

That is not strong enough.

What I mean to say is this: I belong here.  I always have.  I always will.

I need to be at the edge of this open prairie.  I require that exact mountain backdrop and the possibility of mule deer at my front door.  

These spring days are among the best.

These: rare and lovely.  Days in which I fancy I might live forever; when I refuse to read the paper or watch the news.  These are the days when I spurn human, and strive to become an element of this landscape.

--Mitchell Hegman