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our house sits on a small hill, comfortably
looking out over the rolling prairie. the road is
paralleled by a row of giant maple trees leading up
to the house. as i lie on the front porch in
summertime, i relax and stare into the star-filled
space. how cozy the night feels, with this great
white umbrella shutting out the uncertain space
beyond. then the moon comes sailing in under the
umbrella casting long shadows through the trees and
across the porch. nature puts on a great show if
you just wait and listen for sounds of the rural
evening. crickets and frogs are continually
complaining from the creek, while the owls
reprimand them in ominous tones. the horses and
cattle in the orchard alternately sleep and crash
about through the brush, while the newly weaned
calf bawls for his mother. other barnyard sounds
are occasionally drowned by passing cars who leave
great clouds of dust in their trail. as i lie there
on the porch, the steel windmills philosophical
creaking and moaning soon send me off to sleep.
there i find myself in the morning, rudely awakened
by the raucous sun.
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