Geography
July 26 2022
When I drove across the prairie
into a setting sun,
on a strip of asphalt
straight as an arrow
due west,
I was struck by the light,
the high blue sky,
the feeling of endless space.
Cruise control
one finger on the wheel.
Vast croplands
of blue flax
golden wheat
yellow canola.
Improbable farm machinery
big as factories
advancing in the distance.
They seemed to float over the fields
like ships at sea
steadily forging ahead,
leaving in their wake
a line of fallen swaths.
It's called the Great Plains,
but the land isn't flat
so much as rolling.
I thought I’d miss the trees,
feel bored and exposed.
But instead
I was overwhelmed
by the unfamiliar beauty,
humbled by my smallness
and how good it felt.
Now I understand
why she was always so claustrophobic
in our cozy home,
enclosed by dark green forest
over-towering trees.
Surely this is why she left,
what else could it have been?
We are born to a landscape
it's in our blood.
So she was out of place
amidst rocks and trees
and rain-fed lakes.
Where I've always felt myself
but somehow failed to help
her feel at home.
Geography, I think,
that must be it.
The sun eventually set
in a blaze of orange and red,
leaving a darkening sky
that seemed even more immense.
I drove through the night
stopping once in a while
to step out and stretch,
where I stood looking up
through the dry prairie air
as it rapidly cooled;
a black dome, in all its majesty,
and more stars
than I'd ever imagined.
With even more
the longer I looked.
So many wishes to be made
but I had only one.
I did this drive only once. The memory came back as I read this fascinating piece on grasslands and savannahs (link below).
The images are as remembered. The failed love affair is more an act of imagination. Although since my process is more stream of consciousness than anything, who knows?
https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2022/07/climate-change-tree-planting-preserve-grass-grasslands/670583/
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