westward whips the whipping winds

jacob pulled back on the reigns in an upward motion causing the old mare to raise her head and a thick plume of breath escaped her flared nostrils with a heavy huff and a stomp. the aging cowboy had been traveling east for six days and nights and he carefully dismounted the wagon into the crunching snow, taking care to steady himself on the large spoked wheel. jacob looked out over the snow covered hills in a tired squint and admired how the crisp morning air seemed to freeze the untamed wilderness in time like the winter paintings he had seen hung on the town’s post office walls. he found it odd how the biting november chill seemed to dull the forest’s subtle hues into the lightest of blues and grays, and stark alabaster whites. the old cowboy reached out and felt the leaves of the sagging cliffrose shrub, its long and fragrant yellow flowers noticeably absent. “we must be gettin’ close old girl.” jacob said snapping off a brittle twig and holding it under his nose. in the distance he could hear the tussling of young coyote pups locked in mock battle on some unnamed hillside. the playful pups’ shrill yips and yaps echoed through the pines and reminded the cowboy of a drunken irish hooker running barefoot across a texas prairie fire. “yep ol’ girl, “ he said softly to the horse, “we’re almost home.”

2 comments:

Queen Neetee said...

Have a Merry Merry! sirsuperflywebpimp.

finnegan said...

Giddyap, Santa Claws is in the rear-view mirror.