The heat on the prairie begins in small waves.
It soaks in the pores, your thoughts it enslaves.
The Buffalo grasses they weave and the swell.
They wave in they’re pure grace like the dance of gazelle.
To sit on its boundaries, to breath in its air.
The dreams will come dancing dispelling disappear.
As you sit in its shadow, as you dream with the earth
Your mind starts its travels, a form of rebirth.
From silence sound travels from silence it grows
the ground starts to rumble the voices arose.
Was a thunderstorm coming? A thunderstorm strong
But the sky is not brazen no lightning no song.
And then in the dream state this site in your mind
Brings Buffalo charging your thoughts all entwined.
There hundreds no thousands the waves roll on past
You know in this vision you’re sorely miscast.
Then in the distance the riders they came.
The painted horses dancing, there muscles proclaim
The hooves on the ponies all dancing in grass
The warriors are mighty the gallant pairs pass.
The glorious maidens there beads they did sing,
The sweet black eyed babies on mothers did swing.
To end this grand siege lodgepole pines rest on backs
Of village dogs burdens to each they must pack.
The smells and the leather, the sweat and the joy
I must stop this dreaming, I beg to employ.
My mind to stop here now to freeze this grand site
But on goes the vision with fear and delight.
The dream is now ending like the warrior it rode
Now I thank this vast prairie for the dream it bestowed.
By Katie Mills