The quiet time of familiar things is sometimes what sets us free.

Copyright 2007, Jerry W. Engler



A quiet-time shadows the earth
as a moist spring fog rolls
over the Flint Hills,
so still in the new light
of the red rising sun
that a cow lowing her voice
from two miles away
to call her small calf
can be heard as if she
were next to you.
The booming ground soft coo
coaxes from mating prairie chickens
call you to your home
in the center of being.

To fill the lungs
in such a setting,
to feel the chill from
the dew-laden sweet growth
of the new green prairie grasses
seeping down inside the swelling chest,
to smell the breath of creation,
is to invigorate the spirit
with the touch of life's hand.

You mount your pony,
her own ears turning expectantly,
and she steps out gingerly
over the ancient stone outcrops
that have been a part of you
and those who came before you,
and your heart is set free.