volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

The Old Cowboy
didn’t know the names of all the colors, but this fact never deprived him
of their beauty. Sunsets, with their layers of reds and golds mixed by the
Master’s hand, always compelled his attention.
He rested his own, callused hand on his saddle’s pommel and eased up in
the stirrups a bit. Nightfall. End of another, long day. Briefly, he searched
the ground for a place to rest. He shifted weight onto his left foot and in
an instant his right boot alighted upon the ground. He stood beside his
strawberry roan, patted her withers, and stroked the long jugular in her neck.
He considered the barren country of junipers and sage.
To the Old Cowboy, it looked like home.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY