Shades of the West by Doris Daley

Out where the wind sweeps the prairie, out where the wild eagles fly, When God sends a rain to scrub the world clean, a rainbow gets hung in the sky. But look and you might see another and you’ll find yourself doubly blessed. It’s a rainbow you see with your heartstrings, painted in shades of the west. Red is a hot iron flaming, red is a cow on the prod. Red is a ribbon of pink in the sky brushed on the by the hand of God. Orange is Indian summer, with leaves turning gold somersaults. Orange is twirling in three-quarter time when the band plays the Harvest Moon Waltz. Yellow is slickers on saddles. Yellow is spuds with the roast. Yellow’s a golden October sun buttering the prairie like toast. Indigo angers the heavens, and indigo night-shrouds the trees. Indigo flaps on the clothesline in spring when Levis blow stiff on the breeze.

Violet is crocus and lupines. Violet tastes saskatoon-sweet. Violet is royally riding the range with a kingdom of grass at your feet. Blue is the mist in the valley, the sky like a sapphire dome. Blue is the worry and lonesome you feel when riders are late getting home. Green is the sweet smell of April. Green runs the frost out of ground. Green is the jingle and jig in your step when beef brings a good price a pound. There’s my rainbow, and there’s no pot of gold at the end, and sometimes the going is tough. But if you’ve seen it too, and know these colours to be true, you’re a Westerner, friend, and that’s enough.