"A Different Kind of Sameness"

The prairie has a different 

kind of sameness.

Depending on how fast 

you move I suppose. 

If you grew up there, you 

just might understand it.

But if you stayed there,

you would know it for sure. 

Travelers passing through.

Windows closed, foot 

on the accelerator. 

It's all flatness and 

power lines, fence rows 

and cracked pavement.

Staring at the windshield,

miles of sameness. 

Eyes focused straight ahead.

This is not my destination.

Racing to the horizon.

A blue line on the map.

The space in between.  

Nothing to see, 

it's all the same. 

Surrounded by sameness.

They never notice how 

the land gently rolls. It rises

and curves, stretching

towards the faded blue sky. 

A panoramic horizon of 

simplicity and sameness.

But the sameness of the 

prairie always evolves.

They've never seen the 

cottonwood forests.

Trees spaced into ancient 

clusters of wind blown, 

gnarled and twisted trunks. 

Scattered across the 

prairie landscape, like 

ships upon grassy waves. 

Didn't see the red tailed 

hawk perched atop the 

weather faded fence post. 

Angry curled beak with

haunting gold eyes. Black 

pupils penetrating fields 

surging yellow and green. 

Searching for tasty mice.

The call of the meadowlark

is the music of home. 

A song that never changes, 

but is seldom the same. 

Prairie music is subtle. 

The voices of insects and 

the wind through tall grasses. 

A symphony of sameness. 

The length of the horizon.

The arch of the sky above. 

The smell of grass and clover.

The song of distance is 

everywhere, you hear it 

on the prairie wind.

The simplicity of the land.

The solitude of sameness.

The End