Sometimes . . .

Sometimes, on misty days, the lonely prairies give birth to images from far off places. Sometimes, when the skies are overcast with a gray shroud, tinkles of distant music can be heard upon the breeze. Sometimes, when the heavens are about to weep tears full of longing, imagination imports creatures from exotic places.

Sometimes . . .

Gypsies can be glimpsed in the twilight before darkness falls, before fires flash, before wild dances begin.
Scents of Santa Fe waft on the breeze, and enchantment begins to flame.

A vision of an exotic maid can be seen, searching, ever searching for the islands of laughter.

A heart longs and prays to return to the mysterious Orient, the land of spice.

Green eyes wait and watch, hoping against hope to spot some fading mirage of England's green hills.

Australia beckons to the wild heart. It calls and calls, "Come back to the golden land."

Sometimes the prairies are magic!