OCR Text |
Show JO Open Country Can't do without it: the sweep of shortgrass prairie backed by granite mountains, snow-scented wind and the low cries of cattle driven dusty from summer range. And these few words, founded as much on cross-bedded sandstone as upon the language, a measure of hope, the distance a body can walk on an august day, without water. Falling sun bleeds on high snow summits, rose and salmon, cool with burning and quiet. A cook-fire circled in stones, dinner in tin plates, black coffee, the Tennessee Waltz softly blown on a beat-up harmonica forty miles from town. |