*One of my favorite pieces, my Great Grandpa was a "Cow Puncher" which I suppose meant that he broke in horses. Plus my Uncle Mo is a dyed in the wool cow boy, owns a cafe up the hill from here with his girlfriend.
There is a once upon a time, that exists in my heart.
I can see the daylight breaking over the horizon, crackling morning campfires, and blue hazy smoke curling lazily in the air.
Morning in a Cowboy's Camelot
Biscuits and bacon eaten with appreciation while sitting round the campfire balancing plates on knees.
Listening to the dawn chorus of the birds. How do's and mornin's spoken with drawling tongue and twinkling eye, amusement about life in general.
Cowboys with their leather and beads, their feathers and weaves, a tip of the hat, a bit of a tease.
I can smell oiled leather and smoke in the western store. Hear boots on the wooden floors, bells tinkling on swinging doors.
See the barrels and bins full of horseshoes and pins. Rough hemp rope curled on the ground, sand and dust all around. Saddles and deer heads hanging, country music playing.
A cowboys haven
There is still something within me that recalls, swirling fires in the dessert, dusty tumble weeds over a hot trail, sand and sage, dry dessert air, nickering horses, snakes rustling through tall grasses, the coursing of streams down high mountain passes.
Out on the trail with the cowboy
Whisky and whiskers, old spice and pomade, reclining against a log as melancholy chords are strummed, the pick of the banjo, harmonicas drone, chaps and spurs golden in the firelight, comfortable as the red and azure blues fade from the sky in the west.
The cowboys evening salute to the stars