Something about the end of August reminds me of this firecracker label, maybe because the cicadas are so loud. Open the door to the insulated house and the heat and noise hit with a "BANG!" It's a bad time to ride horses, though this is the time of year I most want to ride them. Cowboy weather: hot, dusty, and timeless. The horseflies are as big as crop dusters, and sting you and your pony — "BANG!"— before either of you even know they've landed. It seems inhumane to throw a saddle on when it's over 90°F by 9 AM, so I ride bareback instead. By the end of the long slow trail plod, my horse is doing fine, but my jeans are covered with a thick paste of horse sweat and all the hairy dirt I thought I'd carefully curried off!
1 comment:
The Western Boy on that label deserves a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate!
Post a Comment