Good Morning Desert

Good morning desert, whisper something to me. Sing a lullaby and tell me your secrets. Or tell me lies and stories that are stowed away in your gullies. Burn me with the sun rising over your mountain tops because to burn is to feel and to feel is to be alive. Every little pinprick of pain like a reminder that I'm sensitive and vulnerable. Rain pounding on my skin, heart on my sleeve. Muddy streams tracing the edges of my boots. Spur rowels whispering low in the morning singing the song we've heard so long. The one that called all of us here in the first place, the one that sings to our souls instead of our ears. Reminding us what we were born for and leading us quiet and strong further away from the world. Because we felt it once, now we crave it. The scenes play out in our dreams, our hearts feel it even then. We're standing with sage and dust around us, a horse between our knees and hearts pounding fiercely from our rib cages. Finally we feel alive, vibrating with energy and emotion. Inside there's a spirit passed down through generations and it's swelling. The goosebumps on our arms, Levi jackets, collars popped. The feeling of chills in the morning and sweat by noon. Tying the new age cowboy to the old, doing the same job with just a few more fences. I look up at dark clouds and let it fold around me. Can you hear the raindrops splattering on my hat brim? It hits loud like a homey tune that quiets the soul and horses snort at quick streams, breathing heavy off the hillside. Long trot in mud and sleep short nights, it's good at being bad for us. All for sanity. I pray you stay busy and your hands stay sore.
Hugs, Gussie