The fire glows in the darkened
night, while the onlooker bows with his
mind deep in thought, sitting on a
broken, charred log. Memories
sear his mind like the crackling and popping
flames burning away the
red dirt of Oklahoma’s soil. A child
frolicking in the soft summer sun and a
woman with gentle brown eyes.
Recollections from the past, of a loving
family. The memories fade as the moon
shimmers on the horizon. The man pulls his
black hat up, scratches his shaggy beard and
douses the fire with clear water that could
only come from the finest
stream. He stands up and shuffles toward his
white, pointed tent in the middle of the vast
countryside. The air is filled with the sweet
sound of cricket wings going Kir-kee! Kir-kee!
The tall, flowing wheat whispers songs to the
stars and their grasses shine as the
midnight moon casts its light on the lands below.