Her.

Like the prairie, she is beautiful.

Seasons of her life have made her bloom with colors so bright, you can’t help but be drawn like a magnet to her rugged landscape. Lush and overwhelming for such a short time, because something or someone made her feel more alive. Most, however, can’t take the heat that Indian summers can bring. Her intensity is like the sun that beats upon the hardy grassland until the heat turns them dry and the ground slowly cracks. Late summer rains only make the needy soil flood under the magnitude of the storm.

Just when the burning becomes too much to handle, the winds shift to bring in the cool and tempered breeze of fall. The calm, the beauty of the hay turning gold and the generated warmth of a jacket, made cozy by her gentle winds move you to fall in love again. A calm acceptance that life could be so content and a love could move so deep.

Winter is her drawing you deeper, looking inside yourself for the reason for this season–her test to see if you can handle the extremes of her world. One is calm, cheerful, and full of care when you are there in her arms. Should you find yourself on the wrong side of her passion, that bitter, blinding cold would drive you to madness to return to those arms. Or it might just drive you from her faster than you could look back. But look how she blooms again without you, silly one.

Nothing can keep her from being aglow with the vibrance of being alive and wild like the prairie.

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