 |
| Illustration: Pixabay under Creative Commons License |
The Lost Cowboy
By,
Jennifer E. Miller
The paved trail by the river is line
with pine trees and some sort of wild legume plant that rattles like Mexican
jumping beans. Runners such as myself, walkers, strollers, dogs, and bossy
geese sporadically populate it. Not a typical spot for a cowboy, but there he
was leaning against a tree.
Unlike those home décor silhouettes, his back and boot sole wasn’t propped against the
trunk, but his shoulder leaned into it, like
he was steadying himself. His cream-colored Stetson stood out against the brown
bark and he clutched a modern medical-grade cane. He wiped his brow with a handkerchief yanked out from his back pocket.
Wearing black denim jeans and a twill shirt, seemed awfully hot on a day like
today, in the mid-90s, but maybe cowboys are used to that.
Hearing my footsteps
approach, he turned and smiled. Well, more like grimaced. A top
row of gold and silver teeth mixed sparkled as his Hispanic wrinkles stretched across his facial contours. Although clearly tired, he
held his fingers to his hat rim, tipping it at me. I casually waved and ran on,
feeling his watch upon me.
Did he need help? I now wondered. Stopping,
I turned around to check. He was leaned against the tree again, but this time
seemed comfortable and relaxed as he panned over the cool river’s current, as
though lost in his mind.
I heard the legume plant’s jumping
bean noise again, momentarily causing me to turn my head in its direction. When I
looked back at the cowboy, he was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment