Hermit Crab

In the same way everyone is naked under their clothes, the land is, under its streets, avenues, freeways, parking lots, parks, sidewalks, habitations, malls, wild –and free.

In Adair’s Nebraska village, there was first, the prairie, second, the chapel, and thirdly, the armory-like bus station.

The prairie thus deserved, and should have had, priority. Prairie priority. Prairie was there first.

Aboriginals inhabiting Nebraska held this as a certainty. A sacred certainty, a blessed sacrament, communion wafer island, drop of blood falling upwards, spreading out in a red and fuscia sunset and sunrise.

Movingly, aboriginals put it this way,

“When you have talked yourself out, listen to the wind.”

“Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while, a great wind carries me across the sky.” — Native American Proverb

“Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows.”

“Hold on to what is good, Even if it’s a handful of earth. Hold on to what you believe, Even if it’s a tree that stands by itself. Hold on to what you must do, Even if it’s a long way from here. Hold on to your life, Even if it’s easier to let go.”

— Native American Proverbs

Adair and her parents stepped into the armory-like bus station, not at all plush, but there was a hush. The three of them immediately headed for the automatic coffee machine, because a hot liquid would warm them up and make them feel comforted. Honest to God. The wind, and the wind chill, had mingled with them as in their journey they, as religious pilgrims, listened to it with their family body,

Incorporated.