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watch far before the central Oklahoma horizon.
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here Whooo-OOO bellowed the gales.
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As the fully masted linens released the
grass-scented air with pops! at their hems,
I chased that wind until my scrawny legs gave way to fatigue.
The wind was older, stronger and faster.
Collapsing into the prairie grass-covered pasture,
I closed my eyes and listened.
The wind hadn’t gone after all.
Its infinity caresses passed over the tufts of Love grasses,
rattling the small dried seed pods.
Its fingers played with the wisps of my summer-colored hair
on my forehead and cheeks.
The folds of my ears created a new
whistle for the breeze to play,
to slide across, finishing with a high G-sharp.
The noise vibrated the membrane in my ear.
“I am here,” the whistle told me. “I’ll always be around.”
The wind became my friend that day
and when the occasional draft bursts across my face now,
I want to dance with it on the prairie,
accompanied by the percussive rattle of Love grass seed pods,
until I fall into the sweet pasture’s arms
because my legs have no more strength.