– I hold my breath.  Maybe he’ll buck, maybe he won’t.  Jackson and I find two bulls traveling south, and turn them down the slope toward home.

“Keep these boys moving.  I’ll ride the next ridge and see if there are any others.”  Jackson swings in the saddle, points his horse west and hollers, “Be right back.  Keep ‘em moving, Sis!”

I love my old horse, Rocky.  I’d give anything to ride him today, instead of May-Bee.  Rocky, is like my best friend.  He’s a friend who never gets tired of doing all the listening.  I never get tired of doing all the talking.  He never complains, anyway.  And thank God for that.  Wouldn’t that be funny?  My horse, rolling his eyes at me like my brother Jackson does for talking too much.  He’d get, you know, a horsey attitude.  He’d flare his nostrils, blow slobber all over himself and rolls his eyes back while sticking his chin out at me.  Ha!  No way.  Rocky never does that. I don’t remember ever owning another horse.  Rocky, he’s my family.

He’s the Rock for a reason.  He’s never gotten sick, never been crippled or injured.  Dad says, “He’s The Rock, because he’s never missed a day’s work in his life.”  Dad also says, “Rocky’s head is just that, a rock.”  They don’t like to share the same space.  Rocky, he’s still on winter vacation running free in the south pasture, leaving either May-Bee or Bucky my only options to ride today.

Trotting May-Bee around behind the bulls to burn off his extra energy, I keep him from rushing the young animals through the rocks.  “HOT,” I shout to the birds.  “This horse is hot, always in a hurry and never in the right direction.”

For a mountain’s slope, it’s normal to imagine lush conifers and aspen, but not this mountain.  Here, we’re talking the edge of The Rocky Mountains where sagebrush grows above your horse’s head and grease wood and buck brush that’ll tear your legs apart at a trot.  Boulders intermittently present then SNAP, you’ll find that you are toppling through confectioner’s sand so fine that when the wind blows you have no other choice but to stand still.

There is no wind today.  No wind yet, anyway.  Dad always says, “The wind is good for the animals.  It blows the snow away from the grass, making it easier for the animals to graze.”  Dad loves the wind.  I hate it; reminds me of our relationship. –

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Determined to finalize this manuscript “Big Horn Catchmequick,”  I refuse to pull my mind away, now.

Therefor, for the sake of creative content, I choose to leave you with excerpts of my upcoming novel.

Share with your friends and family.  I promise I shall soon return with Writing of Life’s Laughter.

Comments appreciated, as always.