"Something is calling to me

from the corners of fields,

where the leftover fence wire

suns its loose coils, and stones

thrown out of the furrow

sleep in warm litters;

where the gray faces

of old No Hunting signs

mutter into the wind,"

                    

                            from In the Corners of Fields

                                            Ted Kooser

The last of the photos from our trip to the
Cabin in May a bit late but we switched 
computers which took a while to figure out.
We are starting the trip home. A few inhabitants
of the Prairie pot holes

And then the Prairie a canvas of sky, cloud and horizon.

"Would I miss the way a breeze dimples

the butter-colored curtains on Sunday mornings,

or nights gnashed by cicadas and thunderstorms?

The leaning gossip, the half-alive ripple

of sunflowers, sagging eternities of corn

and sorghum, September preaching yellow, yellow

in all directions,"

 from  Prairie Sure

                                 Carol Light