a freelance journal

Home on the Range

The possibilities out on the sand are quite open.  On the weekend it may just be watching that car load of pasty white visitors driving their Oldsmobile up onto the sand, well past the hard support of the pavement and burying the car to the level of the hood.  Some mornings there is only the phosphorescent white of the wave as it laps against the shore in the inky black of morning.  Then, other mornings, after the fog has lifted, you see the swell rolling in and think that the beach is not such a bad place to make your home.  It’s been quiet here on the range and the regular hands wait the chance to work off some stress in some honest swell.  Till then you can check the new “wall of fame” page with the first entry “rain barrel”. Enjoy.

O lay my spurs upon my breast, my rope and old saddle tree, and while the boys are lowering me to rest, go turn my horses free. -Teddy Blue "We Pointed Them North"

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