Jim, Cowboy Bunkhouse, Sandhills

Jim, Bunkhouse

Jim, Bunkhouse

It was 4:50 in the morning, and the coffee was hot. Jim and the other two cowhands were dressed and awake, the morning light barely evident outside, and the conversation between the four of us was made of staccato sentences. Cowboys say little, I have found, for unless words need said, they are frivolous residents in an otherwise truthful life.

Jim slowly rose, and asked, “Enough light?”

The others nodded. They rose, pulled on their boots, and began their saunter outside to saddle the horses. It was time, and Jim paused for a moment in the empty kitchen as the day began.

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2 comments

  1. Brett – I love this peek into details of things like curtains, those gaps on either side of the stove, the partly-opened window, the cup that still has coffee.

    But also, your prose is perfect here: just enough of it to convey the feeling of the moment. Sort of cowboy-esque, in a way.

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