Heartbeat Of The Plains

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

Primordial Pulse

American Bison on Ned Hook Park rangelands north of Clovis NM

Where The Hawk Flies

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

Where The Hawk Flies

Ranch road south of Running Water Draw near Clovis NM

The Cup Of Life

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.

La Copa De La Vida

Staked Plain grasslands north of Clovis NM

Spiritual True North

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

Due North

Curry County Road M on Llano Estacado tablelands west of Clovis NM

Ominous Horizons

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

Ominous Horizons

Llano Estacado near the Running Water Draw north of Clovis, New Mexico

Springtide Renewal

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

Springtide Renewal

Self-portrait - Ilija (burr cut)

Četnička Šubara

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

Četnička Šubara

Self-Portrait - Ilija

Olympic Reverie

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

Self-Portrait - Ilija

Giving Winter The Slip

Chipmunks are not true hibernators. On warmer February days they emerge from burrows for brief periods of time to forage, groom or just enjoy the sunshine. They move adeptly through tidy tunnels in the leaf litter of the subnivean zone between the snow and soil. Some of the thoroughfares are nest access routes and others lead to ventilation plunge holes.

Where tunnels breach snow surfaces, telltale debris—used to plug the openings and keep cold air out of burrows—chronicles their invisible lives and writes vibrant autumn memoirs upon the stark mantle of winter.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Giving Winter The Slip - An Autumn Memoir

Pearly Gates

For hearts tormented by life’s dire straits,

Money, good works nor rituals of faith

Can equal humble knock on pearly gates

And deliver spirit from earthbound wraith.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Pearly Gates

Mary Holmes Park in Pittsboro NC

Liberation

Seasons come and go

Sun-kissed wintertide buoys heart

Spirit wears death well

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Sun-kissed Wintertide

Timeworn stumps at Mary Holmes Park playground

Embracing Life's Journey

As days get longer and warmer, woodlands near our home shake off impacts of recent arctic chills and rouse from winter slumber.

I cannot resist the call of the wild and before long find myself rambling down a favorite stretch of forest trails. Naturally, the excursion rekindles primal instincts, but also a longing to embark on a fresh journey of self-discovery—best served by solitude and unburdened mind. Forest secrets once shrouded by snows are now laid bare and encourage soul-searching—a personal journey to understand my reason for being.

Quietude makes woodlands a coveted playground for fertile imaginations. Simple treasures like a wisp of soft bird plumage buoyed by leaf litter turns into an ethereal breath, a sigh of an angel. A large stone bejeweled with blue oxidation surfacing through woodland debris stirs a sense of wonder and invites curiosity, akin a patch of the eternal blue sky after a storm-wracked day. Even tangled messes of deadfall covered by pine straw duff highlight the perfection of their intended design, as their unsung sacrifice completes the circle of life. And finally, what would theater on life’s grand stage be without an audience. Unbidden, fantastic stick figures emerge from shadowy hollows and materialize in sun drenched spaces. Once majestic branches in trees— adorned with colorful leafy lichen— and now earthbound after summer tempests, they stand in silent adulation of the broad strokes and fine details that are their woodland sanctuary.

Said vibrant tapestry of existence—woven from diverse threads, yet an interlocking narrative about life—begs reflection and invites mindful pauses to appreciate the beauty of the natural world. In the quietude of the wood on a sun-kissed late-winter afternoon, these unassuming envoys of divine providence reveal secrets that strike a chord in my heart and speak to my soul in whispers that gather momentum and swell to a profound crescendo…embrace life’s journey.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Unsung Sacrifice

Silent Adulation

Embracing Life's Journey

Divine Whisper

Wracked Allure

After recent bone-chilling days, a welcome mid-February thaw provides a few days of respite. At Jordan Lake overwintering seagulls shed and replace winter garb with breeding plumage. For miles on end, feathers and down drift on lake waters and collect in wrack deposits along rugged eastern shorelines.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Wracked Allure

Ebenezer Church Point shore on Jordan Lake NC

Primal Poetry

Large congregations of overwintering Ring-billed Gulls still gather on Jordan Lake beaches. Now and then they take flight, akin a whirlwind of feathered aerialists. It's a primal response to threats from predators or to mob a beach-combing human intruder.

Like ominous whispers of impending doom, said living cloud of aviators rising into hazy skies is a fearsome deterrent to those who trespass into their domain. Yet, the beauty of the swirling and tumbling spectacle of aerial acrobatics also tugs at heartstrings—it’s primal poetry in motion.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Winged Whispers

Ebenezer Church Point public beach on Jordan Lake NC

Lifetides

Dawn spills rose hues over snowbound hollows,

Lets human heart find snow-globe-like escape,

Chase hopes, dreams and joys of bright tomorrows

That restore the soul as new self takes shape.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Rosy Wintertide

On Cobble Ridge in Pittsboro NC

Vanished Sun's Ashes

Where one day past celestial fires raged,

Newborn winter mists quench cosmic passion

And icy hush has astral flames upstaged—

With sky’s hearth cold, realm of light turns ashen. 

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Primordial Dust

Toching Eternity

Angel Down

Just watching snow sift onto cobbled shore

Comforts my weary heart, it’s angel down.

Said stroke of grace heals earthly scars at core

And helps forge inner peace without one frown.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Angel Down

Jordan Lake shore at Farrington Road

Breathless Anticipation

Remnants of last weekend’s ice apocalypse still linger in deep woodlands and sun-sheltered nooks and crannies across landscapes as well as urban spaces. As wildlife rebounds with innate recovery behavior, people return to more normal winter routines.

However, today there is increased urgency in foraging among wild creatures and food markets brim with shoppers in preparation for a follow-up punch of raw winter weather. Significant snows and extreme cold are in the forecast for this weekend. All denizens of Central North Carolina breathlessly anticipate winter storm Gianna’s softer, albeit much snowier landing in contrast to the gelid chaos wrought last week by her cousin Fern.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Breathless Anticipation

Seaforth Peninsula on Jordan Lake NC

Alive And Kickin'

Over the last few days raw winter weather keeps me close to home hearth fires, growing whiskers and reminiscing about rookie firefighter days.

In mind’s eye I catch and ride the tailboard of a 530-series structural firefighting pumper, as a crew member responding to a house fire—in sub-zero Upper Michigan climes at KI Sawyer Air Force Base. We lived and breathed our creed: Desire to Serve - Ability to Perform - Courage to Act.

Lost in reverie ‘bout bygone days, I ease bone-chilling recollections with a room-temperature shot of Šljivovica (plum brandy) followed by a cup of freshly-brewed Earl Grey Tea and a slice of my wife Melanie’s widely-desired cheese cake.

Before long, my mind drifts into balmy breezes and tranquility of sunlit beach-combing adventures.

Reflecting on these memories leaves me with a light heart and ends on an upbeat note, as I contemplate finishing my painting of an American Bald Eagle. Heart and soul soar on said eagle’s wings, ready for untold creative and physical adventures.

© Ilija Lukić 2026

Alive And Kickin'

Medallion presented by Lajes Fire Department from Terceira on Azores, Portugal on the occasion of my retirement in the year 2000

Red Eastern Cedar driftwood

On Eagle's Wings

Winter's Danse Macabre

Jack Frost holds court past first cockcrow,

Intent on hosting dance of death,

Mid glaze ice and Hominy Snow

And fleeting skiff of winter’s breath.

 Ilija Lukić 2026

In the wake of Winter Storm Fern, wildlands as well as people and underpinnings of human activity suffer the beauty—albeit ravages—of sleet, graupel, glaze ice and dusting with flour-sifter snows. Old Man Winter’s minions spill single-digit arctic temperatures across landscapes and relatively warm Jordan Lake waters, where winter’s gelid airs  create a vaporous haze above the liquid plain. The wheel of life seems to pause in the profound absence of life’s hustle and bustle. The palpable quietude overwhelms senses, yet frees heart and soul to soar in defiance of winter’s danse macabre.

A Skiff Of Winter's Breath