Time is the great one. It is constantly moving. Daytime. Then night. Day again, then night repeats. Break it down further; the morning, afternoon, evening, nighttime, the coldest moments before dawn, then again, daytime.
Watch its hands count the moments as they speed by, and grab the home we were raised in, and twist the dried wood, peel the glass from the windows, slice the roofing boards into flying pieces, as it takes times winds wraping and waring its' almost vertical sides.
In our minds it is still real, still standing against the great winds, still a part of these plains, still caring for Momma and Daddy, for those who spent their lives there before and those of us who look after the falling rain.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Chris Hall
Western Oklahoma In The Sun
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