By Janet Partlow
The Mima prairie sprawls out in front of me,
snagged in the feet of the Black Hills.
Late winter winds shear off the iced hills,
swirling restlessly around the mounds.
In my mouth the metal taste of snow.
On the prairie, last year’s bunch grass:
stiff hollow stalks rattle together like sabers.
Cold creeps up my back
Greening mats of kinnick kinnick carpet the mounds
Tiny flower bells emerge from clots of lichens
Faint pink flash of bloom tantalizes my eyes.
Soon enough, the sun will return:
the hot breath of summer and the smell of vernal grass
sweet-baked in the heat.
Now, the west wind sings a chilly dirge to the Mima Mounds.
Deep in the soil, the shooting stars sleep.
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It rained on and off on Wednesday, though the only time it came down really hard was while we were out walking in the park and the whole way home! Fortunately we had hats and waterproof coats, just in case. And I was happy to be indoors the rest of the day, because I talked to my high school friends for two hours in the morning, ate Swedish cheese for lunch, did some chores, and watched the last two excellent episodes of WandaVision with Kristen.
Paul talked to his father on the phone while we were walking back from the park; he has several minor health complaints, but every time he's going to see the doctor about one of them, he starts the conversation with "I'm dying..." which is always unnerving until we ascertain that he's out of nose drops or his tooth is bleeding from a dental procedure. We had couscous and now we're watching White Collar. The Mima Mound prairie at Wolf Haven International:
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