Into dust bowl South Dakota, Alta and her children
Stepped down off the stairs of the ancient Greyhound Bus.
Shaking off their journey, weary from the days-long,
The children were hit by a fierce-some, flat-out gust.
Looking up to Alta, seeking there some comfort,
Instead they saw their mother smile and turn to the wind.
Then, casting down her luggage, spreading out her arms wide,
She wept and embraced that blustering old friend.
Their lives were now transformed to see their mother always strong,
Standing shaken, brought to tears by the wind.
Who was this woman they had known their whole lives long,
Standing shaken, brought to tears by the wind?
[Alta disappears for hours at a time, riding horseback through the countryside]
And the wind it took Alta, Alta took the wind,
The shot-straight country roads took them both to journey’s end,
Past the prairies turned to dust, through fields that bore no grain,
While the wind howled and pummeled and swallowed up her pain.
And the children never saw their mother through the same eyes
For they had seen her ride like the wind
And the children never thought of their mother quite the same way
For they knew she could ride with the wind.
She who was so strong, had been moved by the wind
She who stood so firm, had ridden with the wind.
She who was so strong, had been moved by the wind.
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