día de marca

the wind burns my face, & my hands.

kicking up dust, swirling among many hooves.

the trail goes on and on,

but there had to be an end.

young buckaroos turn away,

leaving us alone.

thier daddies calling after,

be a man.

the trail behind me,

miles of cowboy life.

the years & years of cowboy life.

miles of lifestyle,

that my heart will never let go of.

my childhood trots away,

the dust behind.

my childhood.

a different kid in the saddle.

emotions are falling onto my saddle horn.

____

I didn't mean to sound morbid up there.

it just is kind of how I feel.

& yet i'm happier then iv ever been.

the part about young buckaroos leaving,

there used to be a group of us.

learning to rope.

missing more then catching.

now i'm the only one left,

my boots reach my stirrups.

I can get onto my black horse,

without a big brothers hand.

it's like the rain finally filled the puddle

& it's slowly draining to the next.

it's like the sun has rose & is starting to sink.

it's like I have to find new love,

new joy.

and I think I have.

right now i'm sitting in my barn,

the smell of leather and dust.

i'm sitting on a bucket,

and my view is the behinds of eight horses.

thier tails swinging to keep the flies away.

heads low, eyes closed.

I think they love the sun on their backs.

today is our biggest branding,

which means it will be a big day.

I woke up early & fed my calves & my lambs.

thier eager little mouths sucking so fast.

it's makes me have jitters of happiness giving those tiny calves & tiny lambs thier bottles.

they love me becase I am food.

I hope they love me because I am me too.

the big sky is cloudless.

the blue dripping onto the mountains.

the land is bright green.

and the sun is hot.

but to top it off theres a small breeze,

to dry our sweaty backs.

the breeze makes the work less work.

__

the mountains are big,

bold.

blue.

watching.

the 20 buckaroos swing thier long legs,

over the saddle.

the 20 buckaroos on the ground wait, patient.

spurs sing music & we run,

through the sunflowers,

over hills.

the line of horses pushing cattle,

ropes swing telling stories.

the picture this makes,

blue sky.

big mountains.

long line of cowboys,

herd of cattle,

among the sunflowers.

it's like the burning passion I feel for this day,

is far too extravagant for words.

I felt like giving up.

but no you asked to hear about it.

so I tried.

the herd is circling.

the cowboys are waiting for them to settle.

and then the boss gives the single

& we are swinging our ropes.

the dust and smoke rising,

hats shading the sun.

dancing horses & chattering bits.

it is a branding at fishburn.

it is the life.

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