|Wind Waves in a Field of Brome|
One of the chores I had as a child was to feed the rabbits by gathering alfalfa from the field west of the barn. It seemed to take a long time to fill the bucket so sometimes I laid down on the soft dirt amid the fragrant plants. There was always a sky full of white clouds endlessly shape-shifting and the whispers of the wind through the green plants to keep me company.
My favorite place to listen to the wind was the hill behind my grandmother's house across the river. After my uncle showed me the buffalo wallows atop the hill it became a sacred childhood shrine. I spent many hours laying alone in the clean and wholesome prairie, listening to the Kansas wind rise and fall through the big bluestem. The sunlight made me drowsy. In my memory, it is golden and green. Sometimes an incandescence blossomed in my consciousness.
I guess what I need most is to find a place to lay down on the earth and listen to the counsel of the Kansas wind. It will not be easy. First, two stinky, noisy, energetic dogs will have to be prevented from following me. No one can experience expanded consciousness with slobbering, panting dogs along. Secondly, I will have to spray myself head to foot against chiggers. (Was I immune to chiggers as a child, or have I merely forgotten that misery?) I probably will not be comfortable laying on the ground without a blanket or a towel. I might worry about a snake or a spider. It is too hot to lay in the direct sunlight now. What if someone sees me laying in the pasture and thinks I have had a heart attack? What if they just think I am crazy?
No wonder I am depressed.