Oscar’s Field

Every day in Wyoming you will find a field of sagebrush,

It stretches beyond the reaches of our vision,

Sparse clouds play and draw shapes on it below,

The warmth of light and freshness of a breeze bring us calm.

But on the rarest of days there is silence out here,

We are drawn into the silver-gray foliage,

Comforted by the faint green that remains year-round,

And a smell that invokes every happy memory we know.

This place belongs to the generations,

Remnants of barbed fences,

Logs from old dwellings and structures,

And blue glass from unknown contraptions.

Our imagination runs wild with the nearby antelope,

Seeing Shepherds and their flock amongst the endless plains,

The past and present merge,

We are left with a raw emptiness and simultaneously filled with peace.

This place will always be in our hearts,

This is my grandfather's field.