ONE MORE DAY IN THE SADDLE

by Julie Carter

His thickened, aged hands held a pencil poised over a small notebook as his thoughts took him back where his heart still was. As his mind traveled back, he could clearly see the moment.
It was a crisp fall morning and the smoky smell of a cedar fire from the bunkhouse stove was held low to the ground by the cold air. He pulled the cinch on the bronc he'd just roped from the remuda, knowing that he was tightening his saddle down on a thousand pounds of buck that was about to commence.
At 20, he was not only ready to do battle with the bronc, but knew he'd win.
And by the end of a long day and many miles, the colt would be a better horse and the makings of a good friend.
True to his knowledge, when he snubbed the colt up close and stepped up in the stirrup, quickly throwing his leg over the saddle to take a deep seat before the explosion, as predicted, the bronc came apart with a grunt and a snort.
The other cowboys stood around the corral watching, laughing and taking bets. After a few short minutes of squeals and explosive effort from the horse as he did his best to unseat the cowboy, the bronc pulled up into a short gaited lope around the pen. The cowboys on the ground threw open the gate, waved their hats in the air and the show was over as the cowboy and the bronc followed the breaking daylight to the horizon.
The old cowboy's mind returned to the task at hand, energized with the recall of the happiness he had felt in those days when he could top any bronc in the pen, spend from dusk to dawn in the saddle, and be anxious to do it again the next day.
A humble cowboy, he knew he was just one of many that lived in an era that was now relegated to stories and memories.
His memories were unique only to him and the need to share them with someone was pressing on his heart with each passing year.
Inside his gnarled, knotted body, crippled by too many occupational wrecks, lived a soul that longed for the freedom of his youth. Reality allowed that it would soon soar, but only to that great roundup in the sky where he hoped most of his compadres waited for him.
A tear slowly formed at the corner of his eye as he wrestled with the burden to write down his lifetime of cowboying from California to Texas. Through the years, he'd drifted from one state to another and the names of ranches, men and horses, each with their own detailed story, ran through his mind as his shaky hand formed the words.
He didn't recognize the legendary life for what it was while he was living it. He wasn't even quite sure now why it seemed better looking back at it than it did living it.
He did know that the words he put to paper would be all that was left of who he was when he was gone.
But his intent was not for himself, but to tell those that knew him that he remembered, that it mattered.
What he knew was that he'd give all that he had, which wasn't much, to turn back the clock far enough to do it all again, just one more time, one more day in the saddle.
It's all that ever mattered in his life. One more day in the saddle.
Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net. Visit her website at www.julie-carter.com