Scrapes And Scraps

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting alone in the dark of night, counting the grains of sand that fall from out my dusty boots, ever grateful for solitude, loneliness, and the desultory quiet pops emanating from the dying embers of my tiny, homeless campfire.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having but a scant few hairs left in my graying beard, a thin patina of desiccated sweat sheathing my skin, and a deep appreciation of endless empty landscapes.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You know me not, nor I you. And if we passed by on any street, would neither have even the briefest flicker of recognition if we did. For I am anonymous, empty as the wind, drifting along from never to nowhere, always vacant, always alone, always who I am, and no one else, unrecognized and unregarded, the way I have always been and always shall remain.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, nothing more than I am, nothing less, and inhabiting none of the territory between.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly next my horse named "Hoarse", my sixgun named "Pooter the Shooter", and my cat Muffin, imaginary all, temporary all, no more substantial than memories of dust, but completely and solely mine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, combing my hair by starlight, always aware that everything shall end.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Now thinking more deeply about dirt.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals