A Safe Place

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.