Winter Chill

Winter Chill

The sleek coats have haired up, the lush green grass is left a stub and the sage’s fresh scent doesn’t float through the breeze anymore.

Dusty meadows have turned to plains of white and the vibrant trees are now gray skeletons shadowed by a milky sky. 

The cool clear water is now a frozen stream and the warm rays of the sun shine no more.

A coyote howls a lonesome call and the empty world lets it echo back to him.

Fires burn hot, deep into the night and lovers hold each other tight.

The new born foals are now part grown and these old fence posts hide behind layers of snow.

The barn creaks a sorrowful moan.

Wooden heeled boots crush sharp snow and wool caps frame shivering, red faces.

Chinks slap stiffly in the cold air and the rawness in the wind is haunting.

Frozen ornaments hang off the barbed wire and the winter chill can cut to the bone.

The sun now sinks low before supper time and on the cold, frozen ground of the morning, colts try to shed the bone-chilled saddle and cowboy.

The rodeos are over and the round ups are done.

The calves now stand shivering in the moonlight and the horses off to their sides.

Fire burns away the cold and coffee thaws the cowboy.

The winter gray is lurking and clouds coat the sky tonight, life cycles through and winter time opens the soul.

Winter has made it's way to us!!

Have a good one all!!!

Gussie

Just 3 Silver Rings Smiling From Sun and Wind Burnt Skin

They watched me say goodbye to so many pieces of my life.
They reflected the sun as well as my tears.
They've been worn so roughly by rawhide, horsehair and pain.
Blood has coated their edges, they've never been let to tarnish.
They've been heated and frozen and seen all manner of weather.
They've been watching as romance unfolds.
They've witnessed wounds dressed, they've weaved braids into cowboygirls' hair.
They've held hands with a sister, a brother and a friend.
But they are just silver.
They smile through the dust of the branding trap.
They've held close to cotton gloves, athletic tape, nylon, poly and grass.
They are the accomplice to nail polish, and they find no fear in the life I love.
They've covered country far and wide.
They've weaved in the manes of horses all over the west.
They kissed this country goodnight time and time again.
They know more than I can ever tell.
They and their secrets are are drifting off with me again.
They're just 3 silver rings smiling from sun and wind burnt skin.

Have a fantastic Sunday all!!! 

~Wooden Heeled Boots On Hospital Tile~

Wooden Heeled Boots On Hospital Tile

It's only a matter of time before wooden heeled boots ring on hospital tile,
before a cowboy lays in a bed with white sheets.
A love for the life and the horses is worth the pain,
the sacrifice and and the tears.
God's light shines through the eyes of children,
in the eyes of those who ride the rank ones
and all who dance with loops a horseback.
A cowboy lacks the ability to quit,
to give up, give in or pull out behind the chutes.
He has too much grit,
too much pride,
too much responsibility, honesty and heart.
Though covered in white clothe bandages and blood,
he lies an example of God's creation,
of God's cowboy.
None could ever count the times he cried for a horse,
his child or his love.
None could ever count the unknown favors he's done,
nor the times that he rode the rough one,
so his little girl and her momma were safely set on his pride and joy.
He is the smile in the branding trap.
But just the same,
it's only a matter of time before pain comes calling
or something goes wrong.
It's only a matter of time before bones and hearts break alike.
But there is a brute strength about a cowboy,
a will to live that is as strong as any medication.
There is hope in the Lord.
Pain cannot stop love,
tears may make rivers but horses can swim.
There's more to live for than dust.
There's smiling blue eyes and happy little curls,
there's buckin horses and long manes,
there's calves and poly ropes to be thrown.
There's babies smiling at daddy
and a big hand holding a little girl upon the backs of horses.
There's more to live for cowboy.
It's only a matter of time before wooden heeled boots ring on hospital tile,
before a cowboy rises from a bed with white sheets
because of the cowboy hats praying in the lobby.

Gussie

Dry and Scarred and Littered With Silver Rings. . . .

They're callused and cracked and left unmanicured.

They are hang nail ridden and the polish is half worn off.

They've doctored calves, cut calves and played nurse on horses' legs.

They've been burned and they have been painted up red and pink and spritzed with glitter.

They are and have been bloodied and beaten and they take a rest tonight with cuts and tears where skin should be tied.

They've been gloved with cotton and taped with any assortment to keep skin in place.

Pinkies have been broke, have been ripped clean to the muscle.

Golden skin has been burnt red and shivering in the cold.

They're dry and scarred and littered with silver rings.

They've been licked by cowdog pups, oiled saddles old and new alike and sharpened knives for  the branding trap.

They hold poly and nylon coils, they dally in the heat and cold, wind and pain.

They've held the hand of a love and wiped the tears from reddened cheeks.

They are tough and possibly not approved of, but they are the hands of a cowboygirl.

Hugs, Gussie

The Old Time Ones

Our window into the past, our remembrance of the old time ones and the vaquero way.

Their bridle bits, their Nevada cheek spades.

Where have they all gone?

I know they are here, I have seen them on the hilltops.

I have seen their horses dancing, their manes in witch knots.

I have seen them smiling beneath a mustache and palm leaf.

So where are they now?

Why can't I see them?

Where do their horses graze?

Where has their bridles and romals been laid?

Where do their saddles set?

The stars whisper a hint of them.

Of where they lay in the deep of night; though none can ever tell.

Forever a wanderer, never let to stay.

The range is their only home, their only way of staying sane.

The solace they find is their greatest dream.

For they are always setting a horse, always with an unbroken soul.

Their hearts are gone to a long lost love and her whispering is the prairie's lull.

They mumble 'good morning' through grains of chew and coffee grinds.

Uttering to the ponies they call theirs for the time.

They laugh and cough and then simply ride away.

~ Gussie

I'm Proud of my Calluses, Cuts, Burns, Bruises and Scars. . .

I'm proud of my calluses,
rope burns and cuts.
I'm proud of my scars
that scream their name from my skin.
I'm proud of my life.
Of my horses.
I'm proud of my loops thrown,
my wild dreams and wild stories
and all that enthralls this life I ride.
Sometimes it seems as though I'm comin loose
or blown a stirrup.
Others I feel like I'm fanning him as he jumps over the moon.
But I am never willing to be told who or what to be.
To be mishapen by the opinions of others
and told what profession they believe a girl should follow.
There is perfection in the me that I am
and I was given talents and abilities by the dear Lord.
I was set upon this earth to be what I am
and to grow like the promising colt run off the mountain this morning.
So as my beaten fingers grip the poly strand and horsehair
that is my livelihood,
I am proud of being a cowboygirl.
I am proud of the life I have rode.
And I just hope to be gazed up to by the little girls
whose hearts run on the backs of horses
much as mine did when I was short and hard-headed.
I just hope that I am the best example of a cowboygirl,
and that I carry the name
with the pride and grace that which it was delivered
by hand from the bronc stomptresses of the past.
Mommas, let your little girls grow up to be cowboygirls.

This is the result of a bad cough, a late night and colorful pens! Hope you enjoyed :)
Loves!

~Gussie Lou

I'll see you in my heart...on my hands and in the mane of horses.....

I quit trying to wipe the mascara runs from my eyes.
I quit trying to pretend that I don't cry.
I quit trying not to sniff my nose when I think about her.
Cause I just miss her.
I know she loves being a horseback and my heart smiles to see her face and her hands holding mecates and ropes.
But my lonesome heart misses her.
Every time I throw my saddle on one I can't help but feel like she should be there, that she should be throwin her saddle over a horse tied just right there
Every time I put a ropin glove on, I will remember her rope burned hands and every time I run my fingers over the grooves of my saddle horn I'll remember her and all the horn wraps she's worn.
When that song comes on the radio.
When I want to say something I shouldn't.
When I need a mentor, she won't be right there.
She followed her dreams and I'm followin mine.
I'll see you.
I'll see you in my heart, on my hands, in the mane of my horse, in the reflection of my mirror.
Because someone once said "Are you girls twins?"

Missing my sissy!!!!



Have a great day all!!! <3


~Gussie Lou