Clearing His Head
with every droning thud of the hooves.
Wildly he rode his faithful friend
over prairie land and beyond
till one of them ran out of steam.
Lingering near a bubbling stream
he took a breather, his horse guzzled
and he, he waited for his turn. Splashing,
then rinsing the dry feeling from his mouth,
spitting it over his shoulder.
Reaching for his fresh water canteen,
quickly tossed in his saddlebag,
unscrewing the top, he thirstily poured
the clear liquid in his wide open mouth
and drunk, the water gushing freely
from the dry, cracked lips
Roughly wiping it with his dusty sleeve,
slapping back the top with a rugged flair,
he threw it in the leather bag, while
eyeing his sturdy friend, who rested
enough to dash off again.
The white sun still blistering hot,
he pulled his Stetson over his eyes,
as piercing blue as the sky overtop,
slightly teary with the fine dust,
he jumped his horse, scouted ahead.
Skimming the wide space, the
desert land, the mighty rocks,
he felt free and one with nature.
To hell with everyone around,
he only needs this to survive.
While approaching his home town
the transformation took place slowly.
Civilization started kicking in,
when the sound of hooves
ricocheted from the paved road.
Bursting with newfound energy,
he returned to the task at hand,
with a relentless gusto,
while relishing one precious thought:
Lord, what a heck of a ride!
© Anita Sjouwerman, August 10, 1998
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