Saw the first dragonfly of the summer yesterday
See them tumbling down
Pledging their love to the ground
Lonely but free I ‘ll be found
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds.
—Sons of the Pioneers, Tumbling Tumbleweeds —
Composed by Bob Nolan, 1930’s
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
—Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator
The Last Buffalo - shot January 2012. His herd was shipped off last year, leaving him with just the coyotes and the jack rabbits for company. He used to hang out sometimes by the fence between my place and his pasture. I’ve never been watched as intently by any other animal. No question to it, I would have been risking my life to enter his pasture on foot, and I never made the mistake of thinking he was anything but wild, even if he condescended to stay behind his five-strand barbed wire fence. Days might go by when I didn’t see him, but I spotted his body, skinned, abandoned on the ground. Rest in peace, it was a privilege.