I sit now before my mac, taking intermittent manic sips of my too strong iced tea, i find myself wondering whats out there; though i have seen it all before. The birds chirping on their branches as the silk orb spider sips her wine from a fly in her tainted web. The horses teething at the dried up grass that never is allowed to grow. Three days of cold we had. Only a meagre three out of three hundred and sixty five. Outside you’ll find only burn and air like a dutch oven from which your wife shan’t release you in a hurry. Your throb-on gone like the night fucking air. Around my windows the boxes are stacked, the saddle blankets folded neatly in a pile with the old rifle and a dozen stetson, resistol and akubra hats once again in their covens. My books bound up like soldiers once again to war. I loved Texas once and it was all i’d ever dreamed for, but as i once again set to the road of fortunes — this time its goodbye for good as i return to faithful Wyoming. ?