Prairie Illinois

Outside at dusk, listening,
I hear ancient melodies.
Mid-September evening.
Illinois, Prairie, Illinois.

The sudden downpour ended.
Prairie musicians exalt in song.
Symphonic winds, bass vibrato,
rhythmic timpani, true harmony.

Tree frogs, crickets, katydids.
The cardinals’ flute solo,
The bees’ bass buzz.
Nature’s prairie voices echo,
reply, retort, repeat.

Ancient songs surround my yard,
my trees, my lawn, my walls.
The prairie lives today as in
primordial time. Timeless eons.

Do I come from, abide here, and
belong to the prairie?
Do I posses the land
or does the land possess me?

(Carvings in Stone)