the constant of the wind across the prairie
as true as the voice of my dear friend across the wire
as she shares her joy and worry with a spring babe in her belly and
across the miles hope finds our waiting, wanting hearts
blue skies have found their way visiting like clockwork every afternoon
with no signs of snow and yet there is a deep well of knowing
that winter is coming because she always arrives on her own time
trees have shed their leaves as birds have flown south
the earth strewn now with brown, gold, and crimson
I stare upwards towards the sun with the hope that
she'll steal the chill from the wind and hear my dreams as
I whisper them to her, gently and out loud
my mother's voice echoes in my head from a past time
when she reminded me to "let it all be good" and
the voices of other women's wisdom follow hers
"don't pick it up," and "protect your peace"
these simple words are my reasons this season
my reason for choosing presence in spaces where my cup is filled
where my joy is allowed and encouraged to overflow
where reciprocity between willing, open hearts reigns
the constant of the wind across the prairie
reminds me that seasons, like our little victories, are fleeting
that each little victory should be tucked away
gold nuggets to be revisited in the depths of darkness
while I may not be ready, the cold will come
I will embrace the change, I must, for many of
the greatest bits of my life came from beginning again
from lessons learned by witnessing the prairie grasses as they bend
