| The painting featured below is by Kim McElroy- Spirit of Horse Gallery; PO Box 1250; Kingston, WA 98346. The artist, Kim McElroy, says this: "The purpose of my art is to share the gifts that horses offer in images that invoke the wisdom our hearts remember". You can experience the horses of your dreams on her website. This web site features over 200 beautiful prints, unique gifts, posters, apparel, and free cards. http://www.spiritofhorse.com |
"Spirits Takes Flight" by Kim McElroy
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THE OLD MAN WAS A COWBOY |
A hawk was riding downdrafts, and was gliding near a spot
in plain view of the couple; but the couple saw it not.
With him in his Italian suit and her in her spike heels,
the two a' them were flashin' their brand new set a' wheels.
The bird was of no interest; and neither was this town
with boarded stores and empty streets and shacks all tumbled down.
What mattered...they were out of gas....and here there was a pump.
They'd fill up fast, then whiz on past this "drab, deserted dump".
They called the lone attendant "a wrinkled up old coot"
with tattered jeans, oil-splattered hat, and beat-up, battered boots.
They wondered," How could anyone not deaf and dumb and blind
settle in this wasteland and leave it all behind....
bright city lights and culture and genteel folks ...refined,
the good life, all that mattered- just leave it all behind!
"How could- why would" anyone just leave all that behind?"
* * * * * * * *
The couple's eyes were lazy...and nothing much was seen;
some scraggly sage and here and there, a lonely patch of green...
with cactus growing everywhere, in every vacant space-
just sage and miles of cactus...and the old mans prickly face.
They didn't smell the scent of sage that kissed the desert air;
or see the blossoms that adorned a cactus here and there.
They didn't hear the meadowlark a singin' to its mate;
or hear the voices in the sage, their clucking tales relate.
The old man knew they didn't see the beauty all around them...
the golden nuggets on the ground, he knew they never found them.
The old man saw them sightless and as deaf as they could be.
With all their fancy clothes and car, not half as blessed as he.
A cowboy's one part mustang; the other part is hawk.
He reads what nature's written; and he hears the prairie talk.
Clip the feathers from a hawk, and though the bird can't fly,
the hawk will struggle unto death to reach the open sky.
Once a cowboy, always one. He'll be one till he dies.
The hawk in him will ever yearn to glide through Western skies.
The other part is mustang, and it rears and bucks inside.
The old man was a cowboy, and his mustang never died.
It yearned to race unbridled.....no rein around its neck....
no pushin' pens for 40 hours to get some paltry check.
The couple eyed the old man and his weather beaten clothes;
and he in turn, studied them while toying with the hose.
The old man could've told them.... there's beauty in the sage!
There's beauty in the cactus and old faces scarred with age!
They speak about endurance....of surviving killer storms....
of lasting through the Arctic blasts when freezing is the norm.
Life's the grandest teacher; and with eyes well-schooled, he saw
shallow roots that wouldn't last to feel the warm spring thaw.
He didn't envy them their lot. In truth, he found it grim.
Trade places with them? Never! He thought life favored him.
With no one breathin' down his neck or yellin' in his face...
and not one minute being crammed in postage stamps for space,
The man soaked up the slower pace and peaceful desert hush.
He vowed he'd nevermore endure the hectic city rush.
He pitied city folks their lot....their mad, non-ending grind....
and glad he was he'd chucked it and left it far behind.
Their city "rat race"? Not for him! He thought it sucked men's soul,
stripped their "person", chaining them to someone's corporate goal.
Tethered to no time clock .....no cog in someone's wheel.....
his life here in the desert was vibrant, free, and real.
The old man was a cowboy......that's what he'd always be;
with spirit racing with the wind-
unbridled,
unbroken,
free.
Bette Wolf Duncan
ŠJune 29, 2005
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About the author....Bette Wolf Duncan writes: |
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" Who
am I? I'm an old lady who hails from Montana; and I would sum up what drives me, with a poem of
mine:
While life took me out of the West, it did not take the West out of
me. My maternal grandparents were
among the very early settlers in the Dakota territory. They homesteaded near
Wahpeton, North Dakota. Wahpeton was the second white settlement in
what is now
North Dakota. The first settler there was Morgan T. Rich in
1869. Two years later, in 1871, he was followed by my ancestors-
Albert (Alva) Chezik and my great grandfather, Mathias (Laurenc) Lawrence. A year after that,
they were followed by more ancestors of mine, the Formanek
family. My grandfather, Frank Lawrence, was born in
Wahpeton in 1874, Currently, in a park in Wahpeton, there is a monument
that commemorates the founding of the town by pioneers,
Albert, Joseph and Frank Chezik and John, Joseph, and Frank Formanek.
A second memorial commemorates the site where the first church
service for a white congregation was held in the Dakota Territory
other than at the U.S. Army post, Fort Abercrombie. It was conducted in the Albert Chezik "dug-out".
I have authored two books: "Russell Country"
and "Rodeo Country". "Rodeo Country" has just
been named as a winner of the 2007 Will Rogers Medallion Award For Outstanding
Achievement in the Publishing of Cowboy Poetry. I have framed the letter
announcing this honor; and it now hangs on my wall along side the western art.
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