The lights were going out in a simple, yet perfectly adequate, Nebraska farm house.
The farm house sat on a perfectly adequate flat piece of Nebraska prairie.
Flat and sharp.
The prairie was more than perfectly adequate– it was perfect. No “real” need to adequate it. And to what would one, or could one, adequate the travails of prairie to? A prairie schooner? The prairie had been prairie-becoming quite well and quite perfectly– a long, long, long time.
A perfectly adequate midwestern Nebraska family, of Scandinavian origin, lived in this house.
There was a pair of parents, and some others, including a splendid daughter. What’s happening here is the splendid daughter is being sent off. Not exactly sent away, though we could, if pressed, find historical antecedents for a sending away. In Norse or at least Scandanavian — perfect mythology?
The parents had seen their splendid daughter go off, heaven sent, sure, and loving a predestined future of happiness they could never give her. Dang if that weren’t true, too. The daughter did have to go off, like a prairie schooner, to find happiness, despite her happy home being just that– happy.
This Nebraska farm house, which had seen upgrades, loved light. At night time, when lights went out, as they inevitably did, the Nebraska sky would put on a light show, of stars. The stars would twinkle and twitter. Sometimes, the parents, the tingles and twitters, and the splendid daughter, mingling together, could hear the light show, as a music of the spheres. Little Nebraska farm house, parked out on a prairie, both playing and praying a lyre, went solemn sleep– water was a problem– into a wet dream.
Spam of Human Affection 
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