Spirit of the Prairie

<p>October 1867. Smoke hangs over the valley like shreds of silver silk. The autumn dawn is perfectly still; no breeze stirs the chattery cottonwoods. The scent of coffee is strong on the air, and grunts of waking men punctuate the rising birdsong. In the cool shady grove, shards of angled morning sun dance on the currents of the Medicine River and Elm Creek where they join as one.</p> <p>The one-note cluck of a wild hen turkey is answered by a syncopated serenade from the toms fanning and strutting in the glade beyond the grove. In a whoosh of feathers and blur of movement, the spell is broken. Shots are fired; voices raised. The day begins.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/@marcialawrence1/spirit-of-the-prairie-48da8775fcd4"><strong>Website</strong></a></p>