I'm afraid I haven't done too well.
So I'll tell you how it goes.
It goes something like cold air mornings, shorts and hot coffee. Grinning.
It's dewy grass between my silver ringed fingers.
It's horse sweat steaming off their backs after a good work.
Chills running down my spine and my arms.
Bruised hands holding rawhide braided reins.
Aspens whispering from the mountain side telling me their sorrows and triumphs.
It's crumbling clots of dirt in my palms.
Sagebrush in my stirrup.
It's Dr. Pepper kisses and 'I really missed you' hugs.
A sunrise is climbing the morning's blue sky.
My hair is tied in wild wind knots.
It's daisies in my braid just like the gypsies do.
I keep looking up hoping to see a shooting star.
It's you singing old love songs and me smiling in the passenger seat.
It's squinted eyes and colorful aviators.
Late night phone calls and whispering about old stories.
It's your roping face.
Your focus and our sunburned hands.
It's falling into bed at night with muscles weak and eyes tired.
Butterflies and smiles darlings.
But I mostly see dragonflies because the butterflies hide in my stomach.
The smiles, they're on our windburned faces.
PC: Kimberly Richardson