Well, yeah... But what do you DO, Roger?

[LMNO]

There are days Roger, there are days.  The air seems heavier.  Not like the kind of luxurious sultry heat of Savannah, but a cold, dense weight that makes your spine creak and your neck strain as you attempt to lift your eyes off the sidewalk.

Days like some kid with ADD and a redbull has a remote control tuned into your train of thought, and you can't settle on any one thing long enough to actually do anything about it.  Days where everything that you see, or comes within earshot, just irritates you. 

Days when whatever angels are in control of the four-color screening of the world slipped when it came to you, and you've got a blood-red aura-ghost misting about 2 inches behind you.  What the fuck are you going to do on those days, Roger?  Well, I know what I do.  I lean back, close my eyes, and I'm back there.

It's a chilly dawn, and there are patches of fog on the ground.  There's some dew on the tall grasses that make odd patterns on my boots as I walk to the corral.  As I get closer, a heady smell creeps in, that unmistakable scent wherever large animals are kept for any length of time. 

I head right, to the tack room, and the animal smell is mixed with an almost overpowering odor of well-worked leather.  I grab the saddle and bridle off the peg, and head out to the main pen, grabbing a currycomb and brush on my way out the door.

She's standing by the trough, head heavy from the early hour, her halter wrapped once around the post.  I let her know I'm there, and start brushing her down; once she's awake and cleaned off, she accepts the saddle and bit, and we head out.

Within five minutes we're out of sight of everything easily recognizable as man-made.  The sun has crept up high enough to burn away any residual mist, and I stare off into the distance, tracking some raptor looking for an early meal.  We're in the North Pasture, with a stand of trees to the left, and a wide prairie stretching off for a mile or two in front of us. 

I reach down and stroke her neck, feeling the warm hide, and the lithe muscles just underneath my fingers.  She seems like she's warmed up enough, and I urge her forward.  She steps up the pace eagerly, and I can tell she agrees with me.


This is what I do, Roger.  I give her a nudge, and I give her some slack on the rein, and she runs.  This is no choppy trot, this is no wave-like motion, this is a flat-out gallop.  Her back is like a solid barrel, while her legs move too fast to see.  The wind we create roars in my ear, and I know nothing can touch us.  I realize that I've been grinning like a madman for the last 500 yards.  It's a prison break of a smile, and I know the laughter, the gut-twitching honest laughter of the carefree is crouching just behind that smile.  I feel the warmth of the sun, the smell of pine trees, and the unequivocal joy of the animal who just runs because it feels good.  From here, we can outrun the Machine™, at least for a little while.  But a little while is all it takes.  It's enough. 





Even the memory is enough, sometimes.









LMNO
-for all those who think we only write downer letters.

[The Wizard]

 

Nice work man. Damn good writing.

[Vaudeville Vigilante]

[Dimocritus]

 

I felt it.

[Richter]

Once you escape, it gives you a good perspective on the rest of it.



Well done!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I have a riff for this, but I need to bounce it around a bit.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Fuck, yeah, LMNO.

[Elder Iptuous]

Hell yea...

thx for that, man.

[Jasper]

Hell yes.

[Jenne]

I've done exactly that, know exactly that feeling.  SHIT EATING GRINS ALL AROUND

[PaddleFoot]

Quiet well done, I like it, Horses are amazing animals.

[Kai]

That's some slack right there, man.

[Adios]

Damn good!

[LMNO]

The best part is that come August, I'm gonna be back at the ranch.

[Adios]

The best part is that come August, I'm gonna be back at the ranch.

Where is the ranch?