Nature unknots mind filled with confusion,
Her purposeful flourish and verve confirm
Free will is real, yet hints of illusion,
Unchosen choices, both short and long term.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
As bountiful spring blooms, refreshing vernal breezes and dew-kissed mornings yield dominion to unseasonably early summer swelter, body and spirit crave comfort.
Mind’s eye drifts to cool, misty autumn landscapes. In said daydream, every leaf speaks volumes to the heart, wakes memories of flowered hillsides and allows the bright breath of springtide reverie to hearten resilience in sultry climes.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Feast eyes my friends on nature in her prime—
Dressed to the nines, unabashedly arty.
As Mother Nature exhales one more time,
She woos all creation to her party.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
I am en route to a local store…when a symphony of pleasant afternoon spring airs, wispy clouds brushed across azure skies and nearly calm Jordan Lake waters divert attention from well-laid plans to shop for a new pair of shoes. Could my restless mood, easy diversion from life's routines and newfound energy to wander and explore be spring fever?
The shoreline at Cooper’s Cove beckons. After a meandering hike to Osprey Point, I double back to the cove with frequent pauses to take in and reflect on nature’s offerings of physical and spiritual sustenance. My heart, soul and mind soar as my essence reaches out to a solitary raptor and shorebirds on the wing above placid lake waters.
As in years past, last traces of pine pollen still accent beach sands with warm hues; while once again, baby-green foliage highlights the spring renewal along wooded shores—where mere days ago stark tree skeletons whispered of inhospitable winter nights for man and beast.
Life’s a bumpy ride
Time soothes gnarly encounters
Grace unburdens soul
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Fallen Loblolly Pine needles gently take the edge off the ravages time, elements and the heavy hand of human activity have bestowed on surface roots of the mother tree that nurtured them in their summer heydays. Her majestic canopy reaches defiantly into vernal skies mid whispers carried on spring breezes. I lend ear to her tale about the circle of life, her patience, her resilience and optimism in the face of uncertainty. I allow her message to unburden my soul, reassured that no matter how gnarly the encounters on the road of life…they too will pass.
Dreams wake urgent truths
Hearts harbor said loud whispers
Quiet truth brings peace
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Nearly mile-high, this playa lake is an integral part of the Southern Great Plains biome known as the Llano Estacado—the Staked Plain.
Latest surveys on the Llano place the number of these shallow ephemeral lakes and wetlands somewhere near 30,000—similar to historical estimates. However, impacts of urbanization, agriculture and ranching have altered or degraded their ecological, run-off filtering and aquifer-replenishing functions. They are a dynamic part of the ecosystem and attempts to stabilize them have been ineffective.
Said clay-lined, water-filled depressions collect rains from gully washers and summer monsoons. They are the main surface water source on the semi-arid Staked Plain.
Since time immemorial, the playas have hosted stopovers of migratory geese, cranes and ducks navigating the Central Flyway. The life-sustaining waters also provide habitats for amphibians like toads and salamanders, as well as thirst-quenching oases for diverse species of mammals and feathered high plains wildlife.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Pale dawn hues on a crisp winter morning,
Dappled shade ‘neath trees on hot summer days,
Cactus roses drenched in dew, yet urging
Bold anthem of praise for scorched, bone-dry ways.
Toward crescent Moon like a starlit stairway,
Send snow-filled squalls and gelid winds howling,
Which piñon and sagebrush greet as child’s play.
Heartfelt laments of White-winged Doves mourning
Bygone days of their arid lands heyday;
Yet human connections, towns and farming,
Keep demise at arm’s length far and away.
Ethereal spirits enticed to play
By flawless rhythms of sun and breeze lingering,
Like whispers of comfort on hope’s causeway.
Cloud burst on rangeland with dark skies churning,
Hushed wings, flight calls from age-old crane flyway,
Shared smiles with strangers that take heart soaring
Like laughter and shouts of children at play.
Primal heartstrings...allows grace to allay
Pained souls and nurture hearts…accepting,
That tribulations need not cause dismay.
Said moments of heart, mind and soul merging
Endure as bridge to famed celestial gateway
And light beacons of hope mid stardust bearing
Divine glimmers—God’s grace—as life’s mainstay.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
On the shortgrass prairie of the Llano Estacado, American Bison (buffalo) favor warm season grasses. They graze on the move, rest and chew cud during midday heat, then lumber onward along watersheds and across ridges. They have instinctive abilities to find water and travel routes of least resistance. As a keystone species, their hooves aerate soil and disperse native seeds to help restore grasslands and biodiversity.
In ancestral memories carried on whispers of prairie winds, countless herds in search of summer grazing grounds carve unmistakeable northbound highways into the life-sustaining abundance of grasslands on the Great Plains. Now and then lingering echoes of hooves, like a primordial pulse of nature, turn into the thunderous sound and feel of a spooked herd on the run. Said enduring presence arguably wakes primal feelings of connection to the Earth and her creatures.
The near extinction of these iconic beasts from the circle of plains life not only broke the spirit of native tribes, but also ravaged the living heartbeat of the land, the buffalo. Once numbering in the tens of millions—then falling to the hundreds in the late 19th century—the buffalo survives, because conservation efforts in national parks, private lands, and Native American reservations have led to a significant comeback.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Wind-swept plain craves rain
Sundown weaves cherished curtain
Renewed hope takes reins
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Rumbling northward down a Llano Estacado ranch road trailing a cloud of dust, I eagerly make headway toward the Running Water Draw. It’s late afternoon and the air still holds a hint of dust kicked up by lively daylong winds. Given the low density of air at the nearly mile-high tablelands, the dust will settle by nightfall.
I’m in pursuit of a Red-tailed Hawk—a photo of the diurnal raptor—before it returns to its nearby roost. However, an enchanting shift in the mood of the prairie diverts my attention. I stop to immerse senses in an ethereal work of art, as Mother Nature paints the world with serenity. The dust-laden haze, warm hues of fading sunlight bathing broken cloud cover, and flaxen glow of withered prairie grasses have come together in a gilded symphony of light—a golden hour.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Behold the rust-winged hawk
That sails on-high,
Over wind-swept grasslands
That sway knee-high,
Below sun-kissed clouds
In eternal blue sky,
Where intrepid lark song
Rouses mind’s eye
And imbues heart with peace—
Drink from the cup of life,
Rejoice, the Divine is nigh.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
When woes and worries reign, I ease heart and mind with reverie about the primal tablelands of the Llano Estacado. I allow fond sips of memories about the beauty and serenity of the arid, wind-swept plain to replenish my cup of life. My cup overflows. I drink deeply and find contentment in the richness of the journey—the abundance of grace that helps me navigate trials and tribulations, as well as savor the overwhelming goodness that permeates my life.
Sometimes life’s subtle tempests
Blow doubts into weary hearts
And winds of adversity
Shake spiritual bedrock;
Until, serene celestial scripts
Written 'cross sunset ramparts
Sway wobbly inner compass
Away from fearful roadblock—
Spiritual true north
Aligns with the Divine
And becomes tangible.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Native prairie patches—once part of the American Great Plains biome—survive on the Llano Estacado tablelands. These windswept expanses of grassland speak in silence, in soliloquies adrift on mountain-born westerlies.
With whispers of sage on her breath, the prairie yearns for affection. I give my heart willingly. But, penned words are meaningless to her. She prefers unspoken rumination—self-discovery that removes fetters of my soul—so that my spirit finds divine truth in all things through her.
As ominous clouds of civilization invade the boundless horizons of her Llano Estacado tablelands, they threaten unwelcome change. Once familiar barks of a vanishing keystone species like the Black-tailed Prairie Dog are increasingly scarce. The markedly quieter chatter among these grassland engineers, in prairie neighborhoods where thriving colonies have become ghost towns, underscores a cautionary truth—nature’s grandest endeavors depend on the success of the smallest component.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
Spring clean-up is a seasonal habit to remove accumulated winter grime, debris and clutter from a home. It symbolizes a fresh start and resets life for warmer days. My annual ritual of shearing hair and beard—cultivated for a rustic, rugged and unkempt winter appearance suitable for frosty weather—falls in line with said reboot.
Truth be told, I am tired of maintaining a winter-bearded, shaggy appearance. A rugged in the woolens, grizzled look has served its purpose. Bold and confident change aligns with springtide renewal and favors the practicality and efficiency of low-maintenance grooming. The photo chronicles the opening move in my incremental approach. It’s a quarter-inch, do-it-yourself burr cut of my scalp area.
On the chopping block was my forelock area—albeit sparse, mostly bald—and then hesitantly, the crowning glory of silver waves that nearly touched shoulders. In the next few days I will clear the cheeks, leaving only a full goatee. And then in a birthday month finale, a military-grade shave will leave whiskered chin smooth as a baby’s bottom.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
I proudly wear my father’s traditional WWII Serbian Chetnik black wool hat (četnička šubara) with iconic metal emblem (kokarda) worn by resistance fighters loyal to the King of Yugoslavia.
Their grassroots mission was to defend their homes against Nazi and Italian Fascist invaders, as well as wage a civil war with Communists and Ustaši. They lived and breathed their creed: Za Krst Časni, i Slobodu Zlatnu…Sloboda ili Smrt. A contextual translation that catches cultural nuances and emotions would be: We take up arms with humble reverence to preserve the honorable cross and inviolable covenants of freedom…give me liberty, or give me death.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
My heartfelt congratulations and appreciation of their efforts go out to our athletes of the 25th Winter Olympic Games in Italy.
Through synergy, their rugged individualism fostered unshakeable team spirit—honed to perfection by coaches, trainers, teammates, family members and countless others—which garnered unprecedented successes. They are a slice of America…role models to emulate. The esprit-de-corps they inspire is infectious. God bless them and God bless our United States of America.
© Ilija Lukić 2026
