A GLIMPSE OF HOPE
Before me the land flattened and shriveled. A vast landscape as such was sure to ward off men of proper money. I’d-a spent far too many-a days amongst the comfort of the Bitterroots. Leaving the rich soils and sapphires behind me, I sought out a different way of livin’.
They’d say I’s a NOMAD now.
After many miles of what seemed to be my last, I rode into the Texas border. The air was crisp and the night had fallen heavy to my eyes. Reckoned I should’ve stopped to rest my horse but I’s far too weary of the weather from the Rockies to halt now. The sun rose in the horizon as I passed through sage and bones. This land was not meant for the weary kind. Dawn came far too soon as waves of heat surrounded me. Many-o-miles I had on this saddle. All for what? A glimpse of hope I suppose. I quietly crept into the outskirts of a town just south of the Oklahoma border. Daylight peaked through the cracks of an old wooden sign that read something to the sorts of, “…ille.” Just once before had I seen that sign but then it was unknown a man of good morals homed behind it. I tied my horse to a fence post out back his cabin and fetched water from the crick in hopes it would settle my traveled appearance. I was greeted by that young man I'd only knew before as an acquaintance. But amongst the time of my travels we had wrote to each other each day, eager to meet again. Our greeting was quick, for I hadn't slept in two sunrises and was fallen short of conscious. I laid in that mans bed while he went to hand for the day. I’d say that was the best sleep I’d-a have in twenty-two years. I woke to the sun setting just over the tree-line. I’d-a left that northern weather far behind me now.
The birds sang songs whilst the frogs chirped and I sat in the middle of ‘em enjoying the Texas heat. I didn’t have much to know of the man I'd be staying with, but I had faith God led me to him once before and now again. His cabin sat beside pastures of green and broodmares grazed upon them. If I hadn’t known any better I’d-a-thought I found a little piece of heaven in northern Texas. For the sake of that young mans reputation I oughtta call him Colt. Colt was a southern boy raised in Jesus’ left hand. He learned his way around a horse real quick-like and was soon well known for his cowboying and training. He came home that night and fixed me a mighty-fine dinner. And I ain’t just saying that ‘cause I hadn’t eaten in two sunrises. He was eager for rest after a long day of riding and I’s-a-not to argue the fact of more rest. I laid beside him, a stranger to his ways and he beside me, laid the same. We spoke of ourselves to connect our unknowns and soon fell into our instinctual habits. But he was nothing but respectful. The next mornin’ came quick. I tended to my horse and unpacked my saddle bag lookin’ for a change of clothes. I bathed in the crick amongst the trees ponderin’ on the night before. I had been alone for many nights.
I spent each day writing and for once enjoying my time instead of looking for the next town to come upon. Each night Colt would finish work and come home to me. I learned the importance of patience whilst I’d watch him train his horse. He took me around the property and taught me the ways of his work. We shared stories of the trails we’d traveled and spoke about Jesus. Colt showed me that I could care deeply for another man and that I wasn’t as lost those others had told me I was. Each time Colt and I laid beside each other at the days end feelings grew. I spent eight sunrises with Colt. The night before our last, he took me to Texoma Lake. We had a mighty-fine dinner there and after we fished he taught me my way around a rope. The sunset that night was like nothing I’d-a seen before. My heart felt like it oughtta burst right then and there. We spoke a great deal that night and the morning after. We talked of future life and passions. I had made prior commitments with my business up in Montana so I had to venture back north. I gave my thanks and went on my way.
Call me a damn coyote ‘cause I sure did think highly of Colt. Hell, he picked me flowers and took me to church. But a few weeks passed after my departure ‘n I’s back to Montana when I stopped receiving letters from Colt. The last I heard from him was a day I won’t forget. He wrote me that he had met someone else, and with that, Colt was gone. I went up to Ambrose Mountain that day I received that letter; I spoke to God and prayed over the valley.
And so I continue this NOMAD life.
