BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

She told me of her cowboy, riding on the Texas plain, tight lipped, soft-spoken, a man whose sex was silent and polite, crafted by the sure knowledge of strong, experienced hands, their coarseness, she explained, leavened by his soft ways.

He was true in ways that she couldn't be, and his hurt was written in the far-away gaze he came to have when they were together. His eyes were narrow, permanently sun-squinted, and steel gray, not yet skeptical, but, because of her, unfortunately, soon to be cynical.

I was angry with her, and I couldn't resist saying, "every woman has a cowboy in her past--you're only one of many.

mek

BusterStronghart@Gmail.com

"At a lyceum, not long since, I felt that the lecturer had chosen a theme too foreign to himself, and so failed to interest me as much as he might have done. He described things not in or near his heart, but toward his extremities and superficies. "

Thoreau, "Life Without Principle"

Write what you know!