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Reflections In "The Way"

Or Living At Peace On The Land 
Looking out over the rolling grasslands of central Kansas brings so many things to mind. The grass itself seems to call to the wind; remember me. From the shadows of the Rocky Mountains to the great river we call Mississippi the grass covers the earth in protection caring for the native soil that nurtures from beneath.  
While shafts of primordial grain wave in that wind the senses recall the prairies filled with buffalo, elk, antelope, wolves, mustangs, beaver, badgers, eagles, hawks; the compendium rolls on seemingly unending offering a glorious portrait of a truly abundant garden. 
Those were times of majesty and enchantment. But to be honest, nature even in perfect balance can be seemingly cruel. Life feeds on life. Seasons come and seasons go. Drought fosters famine. Death completes the cycle and so it goes.  
All things live and die by the seasons and the seasons can sanctify or destroy according to the whim of the wind as it carries on its enigmatic wings life-giving rain or soul scorching privation.  
In hard times and good, our mother nurtures beneath our feet waiting expectantly for the dawn of each new day. The garden that she created has long since vanished. Our trifling dreams of grandeur having turned her tapestry into confusion and chaos. As any mother would do she endures the departure from her instruction while quietly rebuking her children. Her guidance is gentle, but her discipline is ultimately harsh. 
We would do well to listen. This place is a special place. The prairies will endure long after we are gone but what will we have gained from our sojourn on this land? The wind knows. The grass knows. The earth beneath our feet knows. This land; this place, is in the end, who we are.  


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