The World According to Bucko; or Cowboy Fact #23

by cowboylands

All it takes is some spaghetti western soundtrack woo-woo, and my eyes refocus to squint into the distance–which invariably becomes dry, dusty, prone to wavy mirages that look like tall trees or figures, and super far away. With mountains or buttes. Way off there. Way, way, way…way far away. 

Whatever I’m dealing with at the moment shrinks to the size of a dust speck on the polished leather of my saddle’s pommel.  I flick that speck away, and urge my horse down the steep embankment. It’s time to drift into town–the one way off in the distance, the traces of its streets barely discernible from the heights–no, wait!  I’m on the owlhoot trail, ducking lawmen and Apaches. Hold on! I know! I’m riding my trusty steed to the Lazy Bar Triangle ranch to rescue…

 

That speck won’t go away, however many times I try to flick it off–I will have to deal with it–but for a few moments, my muscles are tensing with each sway of my horse’s strides and my world is filling with vast skyrockland. 

#23. I can’t put this into words. Damn. 

 

 

P.S. Whose eyes are these? One is an actual cowboy. We’ll call him….Bucko.

Answers in the next post. 

 

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