There is melancholy in places like this.
Where location was perfect for use in four pastures. Where timbers were cut and hauled. Where blisters were built on shovel handles and saws and hammers. Where someone looked upon this round corral with satisfaction in the knowledge it would serve its purpose, and do it well. Where people gathered. Where horses snorted in the dust and looked sideways at the human standing with saddle in hand. Where calves were roped and drug to the branding iron.
“There’s history there,” was Vernon’s comment as we drove by and we peered at the relic.
The poles have rotted. Sagebrush grows inside. We have branded in this place but we don’t any longer. We only watch as the soil reclaims the wood, slowly.
I exhale and my breath joins the breeze slipping along the draws and through the junipers. The melancholy is lost among the sweet smell of sagebrush.
Find me here!
I would love to leave another reply, but every thing for at least the last week has been,
“There has been a critical error on this website.
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I keep trying. You know what they say insanity is — doing the same thing and expecting different results!
I would love to leave another reply, but every thing for at least the last week has been, “There has been a critical error on this website.
Learn more about troubleshooting WordPress.”
I keep trying. You know what they say insanity is — doing the same thing and expectong dofferent results!
I would love to leave another reply, but every thing for at least the last week has been error on website.
Ditto to the previous comments. Pondering its history through the nice pictures and your thoughts is a wee get-a-way for us readers.
Beautiful tribute to an old corral.
Carol you need to write a book! Your description swept me away…..