Eclogue I
A Guide to Prairie Restoration

"But on this day, the quavering had stopped, and a clear, bright calm had descended and had covered everything with its sweet peace." – Gruchow, Journal of a Prairie Year








 ...."Your worries about things that haven't come your way are ceasing,
and a simple botanist may take care
of commenting upon daily life and mores." – Brodsky

II

Three months of shaggy winter ages you threefold.
Skin pools under the eyes twist and harden
and eyes as tough as rocks dry and their stories told,
of old patterns, an affair with the sun, they soften.
The atmosphere of mind might turn to trembling seeds.
Even the vertebrae, down deep, sends signals

to the limbs that the fire again will soon erupt.
Why should we let the ghosts rival love?
Out on the ice yesterday was a thin layer of blue,
the dogs in the distance pranced with sticks,
a new world opened up; a bend in the wind
lifted off the side of your head and woke you again.