I miss the prairie.
Grandma's apple pie and coffee cake.
The corn as high as an elephant's eye.
The pungent smell of a Nebraska fall.
Familiarity. Haunting every step you take.
Little white country churches.
Quilters.
Farm stock. Sturdy, stubborn, strong.
Simple.
Wind whipping your hair and striking your cheeks.
Tall grass and blue skies.
Run though I may, I am and always will be a child of the prairie.
The call is strong and sweet.
1 comment:
i hear ya :)
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