Nearly every day, I listen to Mariah. Her voice — constant, from a light breeze to a fierce energy-pummeling force. She carries dust, dirt, snow, and rain; occasionally, she lightly drifts in with the softest of whispers, gently stroking the prairie grasses along her path. But today, she descends upon the landscape.
Spring is here, and Mariah has arrived. She roars this afternoon, gusting from 10 to 30 mph. I watch the cattle slowly move below the crest of the hill, escaping the dirt that sails past them. Then, those who cannot escape the wind turn their backs toward the gale, the newborn calves now surrounded by their protective mothers.