In Search of (Art/Advocacy Cuisine and Travels)

ENDANGERED FRINGED PRAIRIE ORCHID COUNT JUNE 2017 Not black, not white, it was grey The spiral wind Sucked in debris Rippled back and forth Until it threw a metal rod into the back of my hand And shattered The hand that sheltered my eyes from the blinding sun That covered my mouth before the heat took my breath away   That covered my heart for my pledge of allegiance That said no It was grey A spiral wind Fueled by heat that crept up slowly Left prairies dry Unable to grow even a prairie orchid I know because I walked that prairie With my broken hand Counting Hoping there were some left As the heat rose year by year As the farmers drained the lakes to plow And used drought-resistant seed Because they knew As that drive line wind knew When it crossed the lake And slapped the back of my hand with that driven metal rod So I would listen

DO BISON CRY? Wind daggers and ice splinters hit my eyes, no tears Face glistens from morning dew I blink Trample down prairie grasses   Rain scarce on the prairie Once we were stalked and hunted one at a time Part of a ritual Each human brought a prayer and pact Wanderers Families searched For a way to survive harsh winters We Bison, like them, held vigil So, I gave my life when life was near the end I traded it for a young girl’s dream, a way to search for her lost family We looked at each other as she remained with me my last night Her family, neither hoarded nor stored more than needed for the next season The chief of our herd and of their tribe communed for days before the decision Not taken lightly Not boasted about And so it went for ten thousand years Until another tribe moved across the land Desires of order A way to control Natures Destiny Of Storms and Famine and Chaos And abund...