Riding into the Twilight: Reflections of a Cowboy at 79

 

Today marks the end of my 79th journey 'round the sun, and the beginning of my 80th ride. My, how time has flown by like a wild stallion across the open plains. The memories of my life are etched vividly in my mind, as if each one were a brand on my soul.

I recall every mile traveled, every person I've ever known, and even the smallest events from my earliest years to now. It's the mistakes, though, that seem to stand out above all else. Sure, I've had my share of successes, but even they were often tainted by too much ego and pride. Spent too much time flappin' my gums about myself instead of listenin' to others.

Yet, there's a certain grace that comes with old age. It offers the time to reflect and reconsider how one acts. It's in these waning years that I find a deeper appreciation for life and the chance to live more thoughtfully. The 80's, they're like the 8 seconds in a rodeo event; it's not about how you stay on, but how you get off that's important.

As I embark on this new chapter, I find myself ending the ride much more gracefully than I began. The twilight of my years gives me the chance to be more considerate, more understanding, and more at peace with the world and myself.

So here's to the next ride, with all its unknowns and adventures. I'll saddle up, let the reins go loose, and embrace whatever comes my way, knowing that each day is a gift and every moment a chance to make things right.

Why Do I Take To Writin' As An Old Cowboy?

Well now, why do I take to writin' as an old cowboy? Lemme paint ya a picture. A young’un, growin’ up on a farm, with the wide-open prairie as my playground, and the wind whisperin’ sweet nothin’s in my ear. My partner in crime, a trusty ol' steed named Nina, and I would gallop 'cross the fields, kickin' up dust and dreams. My buddy Tex and I, thick as thieves, we were. We’d fancy ourselves as Roy Rogers, Tex Ritter, or Gene Autry, and we’d round up cattle, go on wild drives, and ride like the blazin’ north wind to our imagined outposts.

We dreamt of rodeos, parades, and cattle drives, and sure enough, those dreams soon turned real. We spoke the lingo like it was second nature, with that Southern drawl flavored by the Oklahoma-Texas borderlands. There’s somethin’ ‘bout those wide-open spaces, long hours in the saddle, the brotherhood, and the fierce independence that makes a life worth livin'. Each day carried a thousand untold stories, and my scribbler's soul aimed to capture 'em all.

So, why do I, now an old cowboy, pick up a pen instead of the reins? Ain’t much different, truth be told. Writin' is like saddlein' up and lettin' my wild thoughts take the reins. Every word I jot down’s got the trot of a horse, the creak of leather, and the scent of the prairie. It’s a way to honor those sun-drenched days, the laughter under a starry sky, and the songs around the campfire. My tales are my herd call, my letters from the trail, keepin’ those adventures alive as long as there’s ink and paper. Writin’ lets me preserve the unbroken spirit of the cowboy, who never truly grows old, for his heart still races with every memory and tale spun anew. 🌵🐎

Kindred Spirits: The Coyote and the Cowboy

Ah, the open fields, the rolling hills, the wide, untamed wilderness that stretched out before me for miles upon miles... those were the places where my soul felt most alive. For the first 34 of my 79 years on this earth, I wandered through the countryside, soaking in the sounds of nature, listening to the rustle of leaves in the wind, the call of the birds, and the quiet rustling of the wildlife around me. It was a simple, honest life—one I'd trade all the riches in the world to have back.

But now, I find myself among the hustle and bustle of the city, a place where concrete jungles replace the forests, and the cacophony of traffic drowns out the sweet symphony of nature. I live in a suburb, near a large lake, and though the lake offers a semblance of solace, it's not the same. Not by a long shot.

Every so often, as I drive to and from home, I catch sight of a coyote—wild and free in spirit, but confined within the perimeters of that lake, surrounded by the creeping encroachment of residential neighborhoods. I've seen him weave between houses, dash across streets in a desperate quest for food, dodging traffic like a fugitive on the run. And each time, I can't help but shed a tear for that noble creature—stripped of his freedom, his independence, reduced to a shadow of his true, wild self. 

I understand his plight all too well. Trapped in the city, I too feel the weight of confinement, the loss of the boundless freedom I once reveled in. I share his claustrophobia, his longing to roam unrestricted, to breathe the fresh, open air of the unspoiled wilderness. Those fields fed not just my body, but my spirit.

Ah, the coyote, a kindred soul in this urban jungle. His struggle echoes my own, reminds me of a past that now feels like a distant dream—fading, but never forgotten. I hear his lonely cry, feel his anguish, and it stirs something deep within me. For every tree felled, every acre paved over, a part of me mourns, yearning for the days when the horizon seemed endless, and the only boundaries were those set by the land itself. Here, amid the steel and stone, I am an old cowboy, lost in a wilderness made by man, reminiscing the tender embrace of nature's wild heart. 

Over the Next Hill: The Cowboy’s Unending Quest for New Horizons

Beyond The Next Hill

The sun is setting low, casting a golden hue over the sprawling plains. The old cowboy, weathered and wise, sits atop his trusted horse, gazing out at the horizon. He speaks aloud, more to himself than to anyone else, as the cool evening breeze whispers through the tall prairie grass.

“Well now, ain't it somethin'. Spent a lifetime wanderin' these here lands, ridin' under skies as vast as dreams themselves. And yet, every time I come upon a new hill, can't help but wonder what's on the other side.

Seen my fair share of trails, each one with its own stories to tell. But that hill there, it's got a promise of somethin' new, somethin' unexplored. Might be a lush valley, where the rivers run crystal clear and the pastures stretch green as far as the eye can see. Or maybe it's a rugged canyon, carved deep by time and the relentless wind, a place where only the bravest dare to tread.

Life's a lot like that, ain't it? Full of hills and valleys, twists and turns. Each one holdin' its own secrets, its own challenges. But it's the not knowin' that keeps a man's spirit alive, keeps the fire burnin' in his soul. Over that hill, there could be new friends, new adventures, or just another quiet spot to rest these tired bones.

Ain't no tellin' what's out there, but that's the beauty of it. The journey, the discovery. With each step, we carve out a piece of our own story. So I'll keep ridin', keep searchin'. 'Cause as long as there's a hill to climb, there's a dream to be found.

Here's to the open road, the endless sky, and the promise of tomorrow. Over that hill, there's a world just waitin' to be discovered. And this old cowboy, well, he ain't done ridin' just yet.”

A Test of a Cowhand's Spirit

"Well, shucks, looks like someone took a swing at the fence, didn't they? Ain't nothin' more frustrating than seein' yer herd scattered like tumbleweeds in a nor'easter. Years of hard work, sweat, and cuss words, all gone to the wind.

This ol' land, it's seen its share of trouble. Droughts, floods, and now this. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Gotta round 'em up, patch up that fence, and get back to the grind.

Some folks might say it's a setback, but I see it as a challenge. A chance to prove that a cowhand's spirit can weather any storm. So, here's to new fences, mended hearts, and a whole lot of grit. 'Cause that's what keeps us goin', day in and day out."

The old cowboy's voice, weathered by years of wind and sun, carried a sense of both resignation and defiance. He had seen his share of hardships, from the scorching heat of summer to the biting cold of winter. But this latest challenge, this deliberate act of sabotage, was a new low.

He recalled the countless hours spent stringing that wire, the blisters on his hands, the sweat dripping down his brow. And now, in the blink of an eye, it was undone. A symbol of his hard work, his perseverance, his very identity, had been shattered.

Yet, as he surveyed the scattered herd, a flicker of determination ignited in his eyes. He knew the task ahead would be arduous, but he was ready to face it. He would gather his cattle, one by one, and repair the fence, piece by piece. This was not a setback, but a test of his mettle.

He would rise to the challenge, just as he had countless times before. For a true cowhand, the spirit of resilience runs deeper than any physical challenge. It's a spirit forged in the harsh realities of rural life, a spirit that refuses to be broken.

 

If I Knew Then What I Know Now...Under The Same Circumstances Would It Really Make Any Difference

If I knew then what I know now... the weight of that phrase, it hangs heavy in the air, doesn't it? Like a phantom limb, a constant, aching reminder of paths not taken, chances squandered.

They say hindsight is 20/20. A cruel, ironic joke, really. Because knowing, truly knowing, the outcome, the consequences… does it truly alter the course of events?

Imagine, if you will, a chessboard. Each move, a calculated risk, a gamble on the opponent's response. Now, imagine knowing the opponent's every move in advance. Would you play differently? Perhaps. But would you win?

Not necessarily.

For within that knowledge lies a paradox. The very act of playing differently, of deviating from your intended path, alters the very fabric of the game. You become a different player, reacting to a different set of circumstances, a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a tempest.

And what of the human element? The thrill of the unknown, the gamble, the very essence of being human – would those not be lost? The joy of discovery, the sting of defeat, the lessons learned through struggle… these are the threads that weave the tapestry of our lives.

So, if I knew then what I know now… would I truly change anything?

Perhaps not.

For the journey, with all its twists and turns, its triumphs and its tragedies, is what defines us. It is in the face of uncertainty, in the embrace of the unknown, that we truly grow, that we truly become ourselves.

Happy New Year

with my hopes that all our decisions will be the best in 2025