"Reflections" painting by Mike Mahon

Riding the High Cold Country

     The mare was beginning to tire, but she was a stayer with her mustang bloodlines. All month the cowboy had drifted up the canyon, higher back into the well remembered mountain paths in his mind. Age brought such things, both good and bad, and the high cold country of the Cowboy’s mind was swiftly becoming the latter.

     Life seems to travel in seasons, first the spring of our youth with games, fun and security; then comes summer with its learning, experiencing, testing and excitement. Summers of our life is a time when we feel we will never die, love will always be forever and all our choices will be the correct ones.

     Then follows fall; and with it maturity, for now we have graduated from that “school of hard knocks” and hold an advanced degree in failures, lost loves, the gathering of a few once planted wild oats in life. But life is still good, we have the better parts of our health, we have friends, family; although some have begun to die off; and we are the master’s of our fait. And like everyone else, Cowboy was just too damn dumb to see winter just around the corner.

     Winter brings the high cold country in our minds, especially so for the Cowboy, for the majio has stolen everything, one at a time, thru the years. And now the short term memories are slipping away and old Cowboy lives on only in dreams of what once was, the memories of a more soft and gentle time, memories of love, family, youth… all gone now… riding the high cold country alone for his allotted days.

     But what the hey; about then the old black dog lets out a bark and the red mare whinnies just by way of saying “Cowboy don’t think so highly about your self.” You ain’t never going to get out of life alive anyway.

~ © 2003 David L. Griffith ~

Mail To The Cowboy Night Writer

NEXT      BACK      HOME

© 2003/2010 Dave ~ Cowboy Night Writer

PalletMaster's Workshop®.

"There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."