The Hole

I was born in a very small town in the middle of a vast, vast land. It was filled with ranches, cattle and grass and the world’s toughest breed of man. I was raised with the mythical western cowboy but he halts no mystery for me for they were my friends, neighbors and some were my family. Large ranches leave little room, for things that bloom, that a cow will not eat up, the mystery is not in the cowboy but it is in what the cowboy loves. In West Texas there stands a great giant hole a void where only the cattle grow, there are few schools and little to do, but work and watch the wind blow. It is a harsh land and it has culled many a man for not being tough enough, he will pack up his kit and hit the road go looking for something more to love. I was born and raised and culled from there and for me the mystery goes on. I have given it thought for many a year just what is it that the cowboy loves. If you find yourself in West Texas stop in on any little town where you can shake the hand of the world’s toughest breed of man and ask him what it is that the cowboy loves. He may share his secrets with you. or just say he doesn’t know, stay only a day then drive away get the hell out of that hole. For it is a harsh but magic land were you must bring your own opportunely. So if your ignore my warning and give to the lure of the Prickle-Pear and Mesquite tree, then I’ll envy you, to be the few, who live in the hole where I so long to be, for I love and miss those tough hardy souls with there open hearts, who greet you so gracefully. Maybe that is what the cowboy loves and it was always there for me to see