Mennomystic

 The Stark Reality of Prairie Trees Scraggly sticks stuck in stubbled soil, a sad giant’s poor playthings. Stunted stems in rows and ringing homesteads, a human endeavour to stave off sweeping winds. Scrawny clutching claws outstretched, a striving to grasp into endless expanse. Dwarfed are these otherwise towering trees by sheer infinity of space between earth and ether. Denuded stark gnarled limbs drawn against such bounteous backdrop of blue. Diminished, with no hope inspiring awe in themselves, instead, by association granting glory to the prairie skies.

  It’s only love that can explain a girl’s shining eyes as she watches out her window on brown textured spread of prairie. What else but love could quicken her heart in this in-between winter-spring. No white snow blanketing the world in wonder. No greening haze to grace the ground and trees. What beauty in scraggled leaf abandoned wind-rows could she see? It must be love. Unconditional love, waiting patiently through apparent barrenness. This girl is one with the naked branches reaching out in endless expanse of space, stretching herself within the clear and clean blue sky. Her soul knows too the body’s ache to bury itself in the prairie’s deep, rich soil. To plant itself as seed. To die to itself, to live. This is pregnant latent love. It is this prairie-girl’s heart and soul and mind and body that aches with love as she looks out over fields to farms and is reminded that the Christ who dwells within as God breathed Spirit longs to look through her eyes to see what she sees...