Stripped of winter, the land relaxes,
makes space for life to rise from its dust.
I run my hand through grass, elbow-high,
each stem bending and then bouncing back,
its suppleness an overlooked strength.
No matter the push or blow, it flows
in graceful waves along the roadside
always moving, never uprooted.
In a nearby field, stalks of wheat stand
stiffly shoulder-to-shoulder, newly-
formed heads nod politely to the breeze.
In time, heads will sway, shoulders slacken,
giving way to the ripple and roll
of an ocean green and growing gold.
Green. So much green. But not only green.
Eye-shocking yellow canola fields.
Alfalfa in white, yellow, purple.
Globes of clover in purple, white, pink.
Wild prairie roses in pink, pink, pink.
Stripped of winter, this land is free to
breathe and bloom in echoes of Eden.