|At the break of day.|
|The last of daylight on the Kansas River|
|Sunrise means breakfast is on the way. Even though standing at the fence does not inspire their servant to move any faster, they can always hope.|
Regardless of the extended drought and the double curse of winter, the prairie retains a vibrant color, signaling life force safely stored fifteen feet beneath the soil. It is what sustained the buffalo hunters then the invaders and now the descendants of both. This is the fading beauty that causes me such grief witnessing its gradual dissolution into the American worldview of pollution, genetic tampering, chemicals, land development and destruction.
The Kansas River, ranked as the 21st most polluted American river by one source, is still beautiful. The sand bars are treacherous, claiming lives when they collapse, and the water claiming lives when the foolish try to navigate a flooding river. Unless we turn the Kansas into a flood canal, the river will survive us.
I have no answers for the problems of so many human beings on the planet - how to feed and clothe them all. I have no idea how to stay the avalanche of change and progress that has claimed almost all of the buffalo and the buffalo hunters. The invaders will be next to fall away into history. The sun will continue to rise and set over this place presently known as Kansas long after the Americans are long gone. Hopefully there will always be a patch of tall grass somewhere, glowing red and handsome in the early light, but all things seem to have their time under the sun.