Welcoming the Prairie Home
Despite my void of academic successes, my passions have carried me to some interesting places. One of those is the wholesale extinction of plants that are not on the Home Owners Association (HOA) approved list. While my partners in flaketitude were hugging trees, I was carrying boquets of flowering weeds to political secretaries with hopes of redefining "weed."
I live on the southern edge of the North American Great Plains, not too far from the old Chisholm Trail. The Chisholm Trail is unprovably thought to follow one of the ancient bison migration trails. It cannot be proven because those thundering bison herds were decimated by the ancestors of the HOA enforcers before the cattle and agricultural industries began eradicating the rich grasses that sustained the bison through millennia of migration. Those herds were gone by the time Jesse Chisholm started driving cattle from Texas to Kansas. Nobody thought to record the bison migration routes before we wiped them out. Still, Jesse himself was too pragmatic to reinvent the wheel. He figured the path of least resistance he followed to Kansas likely followed the trail pounded into the earth by those uncounted migrations.
As I have pondered the wisdom of channeling my light phobia into a campaign to turn the stars back on, I have been wandering my new neighborhood and noticing the number of prairie lawns outnumber the number of installed carpet lawns. The weed warriors are losing their legislative control. Of course, this is not a gated community, so the HOA types never did dominate here, but it's a start. At long last, there is evidence that the light age suburbs are beginning to welcome the prairie home, "weeds" and all. I had given up on living long enough to witness even hints of that.
Perhaps I should let the star free nights follow the same evolution. SWAT level lighting is just to intense a trigger for me. Add in my academic insecurities and I think political campaigning is too near my manic fissures.
but still...
I want to see his eyes beneath the prairie skies while we love beneath the moon
Amarillo by morning?
Amarillo turned its stars off, too.
I live on the southern edge of the North American Great Plains, not too far from the old Chisholm Trail. The Chisholm Trail is unprovably thought to follow one of the ancient bison migration trails. It cannot be proven because those thundering bison herds were decimated by the ancestors of the HOA enforcers before the cattle and agricultural industries began eradicating the rich grasses that sustained the bison through millennia of migration. Those herds were gone by the time Jesse Chisholm started driving cattle from Texas to Kansas. Nobody thought to record the bison migration routes before we wiped them out. Still, Jesse himself was too pragmatic to reinvent the wheel. He figured the path of least resistance he followed to Kansas likely followed the trail pounded into the earth by those uncounted migrations.
As I have pondered the wisdom of channeling my light phobia into a campaign to turn the stars back on, I have been wandering my new neighborhood and noticing the number of prairie lawns outnumber the number of installed carpet lawns. The weed warriors are losing their legislative control. Of course, this is not a gated community, so the HOA types never did dominate here, but it's a start. At long last, there is evidence that the light age suburbs are beginning to welcome the prairie home, "weeds" and all. I had given up on living long enough to witness even hints of that.
Perhaps I should let the star free nights follow the same evolution. SWAT level lighting is just to intense a trigger for me. Add in my academic insecurities and I think political campaigning is too near my manic fissures.
but still...
I want to see his eyes beneath the prairie skies while we love beneath the moon
Amarillo by morning?
Amarillo turned its stars off, too.
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