By Merle Roome – Qualicum Beach, B.C.
I miss the wonderful warm wind in my face on a Saskatchewan summer’s day. I miss the return of the Oriole in mid-May, and the excitement of seeing the flocks of geese and cranes on their journey back from their home in the South.
Did you ever hear the Loon call in the evening as the sun goes down, or hear the early morning greeting of the Meadowlark?
Have you marvelled at the thunderclouds swirling and twirling as they reach ever so high in the sky? And listened to the shriek of the Nighthawk as he hunts high above? And been serenaded from a pond the frogs have made home?
Do you remember the crunch of snow beneath your boots on a crisp winter night with the star-filled heavens almost close enough to touch? And your breath was taken away as you gazed at the magnificent Northern Lights?
And the smell of the refreshing rain as it wed to the parched sun-baked earth? And watched the fields of grain imitate the waves of a lake when blown by the wind?
You know when you see the mystery of the new buds on the trees in the spring, and the vibrant colour of those leaves at the end of summer, that it’s a picture that only God could paint.
I can never forget the thrilling call of the Swainson hawk as he circles high above a new sown field, or the serenade of a coyote as he sings his lonesome song to the moon.
I marvel yet at the expanse of the Regina plains with the vast fields of grain, never-ending horizons, and the rolling hills where the gentle cattle and antelope graze and rest.
And I remember the rugged badlands and wonder at the mysteries they hold – still untold – and the forested North with its lakes so crystal clear.
I recall the warm summer evenings and the friendly faces of the folks who dwell on the prairies.
I miss it all so much.