Thursday, February 12, 2015


We sat under the moon and talked about life and old horses.
The rain was coming down splattering on my hat and we'd smile as we gestured with our hands.
So many horses that lingered in the backs of our minds were surfacing and the way they moved was coming back to us. 
We'd fall on moments of silence lingering on the thoughts that consumed our minds. 
Our boot heels were digging into mud and with every repositioned stance our spur rowels whispered a lullaby to the corralled ponies.
Shredded denim elbows leaned on aged fence posts as he told me about the colts he'd broke and the quirks that laid within each one. 
I remember thinking that this was what it was all about.
My green eyes held his gaze and my fingertips were iced up.
I'd look down at the ground, draw a brand with my boot toe and glance up to see him mid-rave and we'd be grinning. 
He had so many stories and I shoved my fists in pockets with the same icy feel and I listened.
We watched the moon grow more brilliant with each hour and we meandered aimlessly to the barn. 
Our silhouettes stood leaning loosely on the door frame breathing cold, heavy air.
Every hour brought deeper conversation and by 3 a.m. our darkest secrets were entrusted. 
When the sun came rising we were sitting on dusty floors half indian legged spinning a spur rowel with a chilled middle finger, our hats setting kind of sideways and back on our heads.
That night the rain had revamped into icy bits that came spitting down our necks.
Silky horse hides were now frozen coats stretched over shivering and trembling flesh.
My fingernails bent backward and tore as I pulled the latigo up.
Sorrely must have felt the same discomfort because there was a hump growing in his back.
The fog didn't ever lift much that day.
I remember sitting on his lap in the truck holding our bridle bits and I remember telling him to be careful.
He smiled the same way he always did. 
The way that told me thanks for the thought but you know me better.
There was no more mascara on my eyelashes or paint on my lips and I was actually o.k. with it.
I remember being in the truck throwing my head back laughing as he belted out punk songs with copenhagen in his lip. 

Some kind of a Throwback Thursday!

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