Beneath a sky of pearly blue
current ripples rush against the white bank,
fish splash, each a tick in time.
And how we prize this giant blasted cottonwood,
with each bark furrow grown familiar to our captive eyes'
Yet it is a refuge that some future storm will wash away.
But now, just now, insects hum
in the drowsy shade that graces this wild esplanade,
While far out on the plain
dry coulees bake in the Dahcota heat.
Ah Whirlwind, you will come,
but your visit will leave only stains on grass.
Then like the herds you follow, you will pass,
yet scatter seeds to creek, to plain, to future's tide.