“Well, ain’t this a sight to behold? This land—this was my chapel, my livelihood, my home. The prairie... so endless, so alive. Now, she’s a red sea of fury, devouring all in her path. I reckon every blade of grass out there knows the end’s come callin’.
This ol' land—she gave me everything. A place to lay my weary bones at the day's end, the scent of wildflowers carried on a stubborn wind, the quiet symphony of crickets beneath a watchful moon. Lord, I didn’t just work this land; I poured my soul into it, bit by bit, day after day. And now she’s burnin’, screamin’ to the heavens with a voice louder than thunder, sayin’... ‘No more.’
Maybe it’s my fault. Took too much, gave too little. Or maybe it’s fate, nature’s way of remindin’ us that nothin' we claim is truly ours. But damn it all, it don’t make it easier to stand here and watch her die.
The cattle’ll scatter, the barn’s bound to go up, and the wild’ll be barren long after the flames die down. But you know what scares me most? It ain’t the loss of land, nor the hard years ahead. It’s the stillness after the flames—that deafening silence when the fire's done takin’ and leaves you with nothin’ but ash and regret.I guess... I guess I’ll find a way, same as always. The prairie burns today, but I’ll saddle up tomorrow, pick through the ruin and see what’s left worth savin’. That’s what us cowhands do—we endure. And maybe, just maybe, the prairie will forgive me one day and let me start anew.”
He wipes his brow, dusts the soot from his trousers, and turns to face the fire once more. The wind howls, carrying embers into the starless sky.
How long’s it gonna take for folks to finally reckon with the land, the environment, to cherish her and treat her like the lifeblood she is?
Have a Good Week, Ya'll
Let’s be mindful of our earth and its well-being!
