(no subject)
The gritty expanse left no sign of a trail. Tall rock faces jettisoned vertically on both sides, lasso-like winds proved a constant obstacle. For him it was a welcome escape from the concrete embrace of his city prison, a new man and a new hat keeping the sun from his downward brow.
He'd found a horse willing to carry him the miles it would take to make his clean escape. A skeptic but a true companion, the horse gladly bore his weight. Long days carved out sad nights, the two riding in opposition of the smoke stacks behind. He could smell the springs in the future, the horse could taste the grass. His only concern was that his confined "city" mind would prove unable to discern any difference.
A tireless path, the rider had long since stepped down from the horse and led her gently by the reigns. They curved down the canyon, never losing their unique bounce. Tired and thirsty they stretched towards their perpetual heaven. After too long and too far there is only acceptance, there is no turning back, there is no desertion, no one hears your cries at the bottom of the canyon, all they notice is if you're gone by the morning.
It was a savage valley, a barrier from life itself, a buffer zone to prove one's intentions; to confidently tempt one's pitiful fate.
The road signs eroded to meaningless jumbles.
The canvas seemed cluttered,
the heavens high overhead.
To continue scaling the desert terrain the rider began cutting ties, reaching into his pockets and letting go of all that bound him. He dropped the pocket watch he got from wherever, ripped off his bracelet he stole from whoever and rid himself of his city soaked wallet. He gradually dropped his new hat and welcomed the sun deep into his eyes.
They say at that moment the rider became so light only the reigns in his hand kept him from floating away.
He'd found a horse willing to carry him the miles it would take to make his clean escape. A skeptic but a true companion, the horse gladly bore his weight. Long days carved out sad nights, the two riding in opposition of the smoke stacks behind. He could smell the springs in the future, the horse could taste the grass. His only concern was that his confined "city" mind would prove unable to discern any difference.
A tireless path, the rider had long since stepped down from the horse and led her gently by the reigns. They curved down the canyon, never losing their unique bounce. Tired and thirsty they stretched towards their perpetual heaven. After too long and too far there is only acceptance, there is no turning back, there is no desertion, no one hears your cries at the bottom of the canyon, all they notice is if you're gone by the morning.
It was a savage valley, a barrier from life itself, a buffer zone to prove one's intentions; to confidently tempt one's pitiful fate.
The road signs eroded to meaningless jumbles.
The canvas seemed cluttered,
the heavens high overhead.
To continue scaling the desert terrain the rider began cutting ties, reaching into his pockets and letting go of all that bound him. He dropped the pocket watch he got from wherever, ripped off his bracelet he stole from whoever and rid himself of his city soaked wallet. He gradually dropped his new hat and welcomed the sun deep into his eyes.
They say at that moment the rider became so light only the reigns in his hand kept him from floating away.