The wind blowing in the prairie grass
is like the sound of the whisperings
of a thousand angels’ fervent prayers.
I love to stand there, absolutely still,
and listen to the breeze move
in waves across a sea of grass.
Sometimes I find a place where a deer has lain down
— hidden away and sleeping;
so I lie there too and I imagine
I know what the deer knows:
that I am in a secret place.
I am safe.