The Prairie Still Compiles

The hierarchies of our core analogies are blown.

Once, we spoke in hawk-wing curves and soil-scent, in toad rush folding beneath the rain. These were the real things.

Now we speak in screens and validation, in likes and shares and digital currency— our analogies drift like snow, no longer anchored to the earth.

The wind knows nothing of this. It keeps its ancient rhythm, whistling through the spaces between our misunderstandings.