Sitting up I saw dirt ground patched with
dry grass as far as the eye could see. I spotted some cows or bulls in the
distance. Definitely not Agoura Hills,
California. This was a more arid and
rocky terrain, not the rolling green and yellow hills I was used to, freckled
with oak trees and wild flowers.
Then I took a good look at this man. His clothes were old (antique old). And dirty enough. The material of his soft, dark blue shirt
looked thin and just different. It was
tucked in rough, black pants (denim or canvas, I couldn’t be sure). He wore brown leather suspenders and black,
dirt-caked boots. And his scent! He was
close enough to smell it: a mixture of sweat and leather. I took him in with a deep breath and was
fully here.
Timidly, I reached out to touch his
arm. He was real. This could not be a dream. I was completely awake. I know I was.
He braced me as I got up on legs I began to feel. I was barefoot on the hot ground. Stones pricked my burning feet.
He observed me hopping about as he pulled
up a saddled horse as black as night save a white diamond shape on its
forehead. I thought I heard him call the horse “Grant”.
“Better get you on him,” he said.
He put his hands around the back of my waist
and hoisted me up. I fiddled with the one stirrup and clumsily swinging my
other leg over Grant’s back. The man
hopped on his saddle in front of me.
“Hold on to me,” he instructed.
No comments:
Post a Comment