On The Gather

Fresh morning air stinging my lungs,
A brisk step in my pony's walk.
Beauty surrounding me in every single direction.
My hand was meant to mold around rawhide reins,
My boots were meant for thick banded spurs.
A whirlpool of thoughts spin through my mind,
We break trot on an old cattle trail through Aspen trees.
Foxy, sorrel ears pin toward a snapping twig up among the pines,
Momma cows line out on a fast trot at the sight of me trotting through the meadow.
Cheerful laughter echoing through the wind,
A colt whistles a snort out into the valley.
A little girl flashes a shivering grin as she sets atop her cowboy pony,
Baby boy sitting in front of his mom on a big yellow gelding.
And everything in the world seems right, right here.
In a little valley on stout ranch mounts, among the trees, the cows and a tumbling creek.

Gussie