The December sky pressed down on Gray Summit as we entered Shaw Arboretum. The busses left the smooth asphalt, bumped along the winding gravel road, and bounced through several gates. Stepping off the bus, I stared at the tall grass prairieÑnot a Hollywood prairie, the civilized vistas of The Little House on the Prairie, or the manicured grasses of Wagon TrainÑbut an actual, reclaimed prairie. Miriam, our naturalist guide, led my freshman students and me up the steep, one-mile trail cutting a narrow path through the head-tall grasses. Pausing periodically, she explained the adaptations of indigenous flora and fauna, but I, captured by the probing wind, listened to the prairie music, whistling.

From an observation platform crowning the hilltop, I surveyed the golden-brown expanse rolling below. Grasses stirred like the bared, broad back of an alien, twitching in restless sleep. Miriam signaled us to follow her. The students thudded down the creaking steps, eager to seek refuge in the spruce trees on the prairieÕs fringe. I stood, trapped between two worlds, wondering what aliens dream.