Nebraska Center for Writers


THESE PRAIRIES ROLL southward down through what we call the Dakotas. Harsh lands, the Dakotas, given over to sturdy people, tough people, rodeo cowboys, the colors of yellow and brown, and in the spring and fall, those migrating birds.
Morning comes to the east with a domineering supernova of red, and you smile in the normal way you do every morning of your life when the day enters with such force right over the top of some farmstead miles to the horizon, with tall trees and a barn across a green land now reflecting every warm color.
Once every few miles there was a marsh, a wet place in the sand, cattails, sedges, maybe some open water, and she might have stopped at one of these places were it dnot for th emiles of mudflat she could see in her mind over the horizons.

Reprinted with permission
from Yellowlegs
Copyright © 1981
by John Janovy, Jr
Houghton Mifflin

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The Rock

Nebraska Center for Writers