|I can remember back, when I was a child
The first time I saw them. Running free, running Wild.
Forever engraved, Etched to my memory
The vision I witnessed. That day in the valley.
The ground filled with Thunder,
I could feel to the depths of my soul.
And the strange whispered callings
that told me to go.
I could not see them, but I knew they were there.
So I set out to find them, alone, without fear.
From my safe place in hiding up high on that ridge,
that seemed to touch heaven,..The top of the world.
With my heart pounding wildly in time to the thunder,
I could feel all around me, the wondrous splendor.
I caught my breath, as they came into sight.
And I could feel myself with them, in the strength of each stride
I could feel the wind on my face, as it tore, and ripped at my clothes.
My eyes stung from the tears, that blinded,... and flowed.
Though just a child, I knew in my heart,
Their Spirits were special. They were not of this earth.
I knew without words, their full meaning and message .
Why.. they were here! Running Free , wild and roaming.
That they stood for Freedom... For Truth, love and joy.
All that is pure, In hearts and of souls.
I could see the whole valley stretched out, below me.
And I watched in enchantment. As my blood raced, from the feelings.
I watched in silence, the sight mesmerizing.
It filled me with joy, with "them",.. I was flying.
I could smell the earth, the dirt that was sent sailing.
From the power of their hooves, reaching and digging.
I could smell the sweat, that ran off of their bodies,
Hair, mingled in dust, the warm air of their breathing.
And they glistened , and shinned as they ran in the sun
In the valley below, on their wild freedom run.
Etched in my heart, and in my memory
Is the first time I saw,
The wild herd of Mustangs.
All Rights Reserved
The above, is a true story from my childhood. I was at the time about 8 years old.
There is however "more" to the story, than I revealed in the poem above.
My Father, was an geologist, and I spent a great many of my younger years growing up
in the Deserts of Calif, Nevada and Arizona. During that time, going off into the desert
was considered "Tabu".
There were at that time, no roads to some of the places we ventured off too. On
occasion we would find, posted into the ground, some OLD broken pieces of wood,
that stood as a sign, a marker, for at one time was the entrance to some old road. Just
old boards, with maybe a simple faded crude drawing of a skull and cross bones, and or
sometimes the word "Danger".
This trip, this time, was in "Death Valley" at a location known today as the "Race
Track". A huge dry lake bed.
The herd of horses that I had found, and the feelings I felt at being able to witness
them, is and was far more than ,anything I could ever describe in words.
But if I could, I would "give" that feeling,
to every single person walking or that ever had walked this Earth.
I saw more than the horses down there. And in that time, in that moment, I also felt
incredible anguished sorrow.
I witnessed what was known at the time as "Mustang Runners" Men who's jobs were,
to gather up and catch the Mustangs, with vehicles, planes, and a few on horseback.
Something I did not understand at the time. All I knew was from what my father had
told me about the men I saw, and what fate the horses were to have at there hands.
Their fate, to gruesome for words.
As a child , I knew what I saw there, was wrong. As I had watched in their Capture
I felt all their fears, but I felt also their strength, and there wills to endure.
Mustangs are a Legacy, Our Legacy.
The once, and still to this day living legends of our pasts
That represent for me,
all the best and most beautiful, virtues in life.
The man, my father took to me to many wondrous places.
And because of that, I was given a special gift. To see, explore, witness and experience
many things, that most people can only dream about. In doing that, he taught me a
He taught me appreciation, dedication, acceptance, courage and so very much more.
He taught me to dream, that nothing is impossible and that if you work hard enough, or
want something enough to work for it, dreams can come true. Seeing those horses, was
a dream come true.
This poem, "Mustangs Spirits of Truth" Is dedicate to my father.
Who taught me by example in the way he lived his own life,
to Follow my Heart and to Believe in my Dreams.
I never really said "Thank You ". He did not like sediment,
Now that it is to late, I wish that I had.
|Copyright 2001-2003 Cowboys-n-Cowgirls.com All Rights Reserved.
Please Honor All Copyright Laws.
Enjoy what you find here, but let it stay here.
|~Mustangs.. Spirits of Truth