Here you will find writings about life in the deep south, the love of an old family country house, time spent at our tiny island cottage and an old lake hideaway, adventures with our vintage Airstream....books, recipes, yoga, herbs, overseas adventures, flea market and thrift finds, decorating and just southern life in general.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Wild Wild West...
And what a view they have...
Blessings
Yaya
2 comments:
Anonymous
said...
The wheels on the buckboard wagon comes to a stop. A tumbleweed rolls by and lodges agains't a cactus. A dustdevil kicks up from the dry parched air. Alas, in the distant the merchant, notices a group of buzzard's circling a grove of trees. As the wheels once again rolls toward the grove, he notices the stench of death, and cautiously proceeds til he sees a scalped drifter hanging from a western red cedar. Next to the tree is a small pool of water. Death and Life, so close together, sometimes they tend to go hand in hand. What brought this drifter to this terrible end. Did he and the red man show up at the same time and fight over nourishment. Could they not have shared the deserts bounty and went their separate ways. The merchant, sets up camp and as luck has it, trades his way with the tribes, trappers and the drifting cowboys and erects a crude tradin post that lasts several years. Many a passerby watered their horse or livestock in the waterin hole next to the grove of trees. The merchant grew old and passed away and a wildfire destroys the establishment, except for the small grove of trees by the waterin hole. On occasion, there is a tumbleweed that rolls by. A whirlwind of dust kicks up and a buzzard flys over looking for its next meal. As nighttime nears and all is quiet, you can hear the merchants laughter, like a ghost, true echoes from the past. The wild west, rough, rugged, relentless, but a vast beautiful array of scenery and adventure. That to this day beckons us to go west. See if you can tame her. The west, much like a wild stallion, to wild to ride. The west, like a raging river, to difficult to navigate. The west, mother nature at her uncontrolable best, the calm and then the tempest. A place many love to visit but only a few can take her by the reins, for once again the ride will be short.
You were born to write. You have a gift of such that draws one into every word. I could feel the wind, and see the tumbleweed. Yes, wild, rough, rugged, and relentless, but equal in beauty...The Yin and the Yang... Like leather and lace. Thank YOU so much for visiting my little place beneath a southern sky, and taking the time to weave words into a fasinating story. Love, Yaya
And what a view they have...
2 comments:
The wheels on the buckboard wagon comes to a stop. A tumbleweed rolls by and lodges agains't a cactus. A dustdevil kicks up from the dry parched air. Alas, in the distant the merchant, notices a group of buzzard's circling a grove of trees. As the wheels once again rolls toward the grove, he notices the stench of death, and cautiously proceeds til he sees a scalped drifter hanging from a western red cedar. Next to the tree is a small pool of water. Death and Life, so close together, sometimes they tend to go hand in hand. What brought this drifter to this terrible end. Did he and the red man show up at the same time and fight over nourishment. Could they not have shared the deserts bounty and went their separate ways. The merchant, sets up camp and as luck has it, trades his way with the tribes, trappers and the drifting cowboys and erects a crude tradin post that lasts several years. Many a passerby watered their horse or livestock in the waterin hole next to the grove of trees. The merchant grew old and passed away and a wildfire destroys the establishment, except for the small grove of trees by the waterin hole. On occasion, there is a tumbleweed that rolls by. A whirlwind of dust kicks up and a buzzard flys over looking for its next meal. As nighttime nears and all is quiet, you can hear the merchants laughter, like a ghost, true echoes from the past. The wild west, rough, rugged, relentless, but a vast beautiful array of scenery and adventure. That to this day beckons us to go west. See if you can tame her. The west, much like a wild stallion, to wild to ride. The west, like a raging river, to difficult to navigate. The west, mother nature at her uncontrolable best, the calm and then the tempest. A place many love to visit but only a few can take her by the reins, for once again the ride will be short.
You were born to write. You have a gift of such that draws one into every word. I could feel the wind, and see the tumbleweed. Yes, wild, rough, rugged, and relentless, but equal in beauty...The Yin and the Yang... Like leather and lace. Thank YOU so much for visiting my little place beneath a southern sky, and taking the time to weave words into a fasinating story.
Love,
Yaya
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