Okoboji - with audio

audio link

The sky tonight is fabulous,
Already, three shooting stars have crossed the heavens
Looking on further a small plane is sputtering and going down.
The updrafts from the lakes are famously deadly,
The Big Bopper, Buddy Holly and many like them
Have fallen from the skies here
And more than the music has been lost.
Okoboji folks tend to be generally happy,
Blond haired blue eyed Viking roses.
As the fair and ruddy work the land, they are offset,
Like the placidly dripping hot cloudy and sunny blue heaven days
Set against the violently black tornadoes and sickly
Green faced electrical storms as if sent from the devil himself,
By the midnight colored Romany Gypsies, who pave the roads,
Work carnivals and sell used means of transportation.
The land here oozes earthy, perspiring
Gopher, mouse and loon filled plains
And it's fresh lakes and air,
Covered in green trees and corn fields,
Are wonderful and refreshing.
There is always a breeze blowing.
Sometimes when looking across the lane from the ranch
A social party of cows can be found grazing.
A little down the road is a farmhouse on some property.
An old woman is there, happy and full of life,
Painting the house, riding the tractor plowing the fields,
Shooting groundhogs, and providing lemonade for young dandies.
The farmhouse stands like an old wise man
One might read about in a fairytale.
Gray faded peeling paint to match
The enchanting drifting gray of smooth dead trees,
That draws one's whole being into them at a glance.
Dancing, whistling, whispering, shushing;
Wheat, barley and oats add blowing rhythm to the scene
Majestic twin silos stand watch over the house and barnyard,
And seem to be spying on the people; secretly, silently.
It is indescribable the way the sky loves the land here
Embracing or fighting with mauve sunrises,
Red lavender purple sunsets, angry dark storm clouds,
Only to be broken up by bright yellow humid sunshine.
And just when the mind tells the eyes and soul that
Perhaps one should start to carry on with some activity of the day;
Colored urgent by that social tempo, time,
A person find that he or she has been somehow brush-stroked
Onto and into the textured canvas of the landscape.
Part of the self embraces and absorbs the experience
Taking lusty breaths, while the child inside explores
With energetic saturating, seeping curiosity it's every sensation;
Swimming in lakes, running on dusty roads,
Floating in the flowing grasses, tumbling through the breezes,
Chewing on a weed while laying on the table like horizon,
And feeling the smell of the lands damp dark
sand seeded soil flee, falling through dirt leaking hands-
SIFFFFFFT ....................-
Ah,
Turn and walk away,
The moment is over.