Jan 2012
Night Rider
This is just a trip an excursion if that is alright it will weave in and out of the past the present and the
Imaginary its purpose a ripple in time for each of us a breather a drift time pressure to great and
Bothersome take this temporary exit off the beaten path into the rugged raw world of to whom some
Called savage. The story picks up with a brave mounted on a great paint coloring that is most identifiable
With Native American tribes. The place a large encampment tepees stretch for a mile down this high
Mountain meadow the rider’s duty ride the perimeter of this congress of souls that have made this
There sheltering land for the moment because they follow the dictates of nature its rhythms and
harmony they skillfully read they are at the front of this wave the human instrument that nature
displays her docility her range of emotions show in the lines of this people’s faces. The drawings on
Their ever movable homes tell the stories the time when the great storm came but the deliverance
provided by the great Spirit is depicted nature is their natural guide but it too has a master a benevolent
one then the drawing of the great battle the loss was evident on many tepees horseless rider the burial
altar built high offering this sacrifice of suffering and loss earth is bound in a struggle all who journey
here will shed tears and know sorrow but from agony tortured spring a new generation streams forth
Replenishing and building the future and in only such lovely ones can the separated be truly honored
And preserved. The village banks their fires against the night wind the rider rides on they nestled the
village up to the mountain on the north side to hamper the winds as they continue their endless quest
to dominate and wreck any or all disturbance your job take the advantage when you can the mountain
Not only is beautiful and the pine and lone coyote howling at the sorrowing moon is a well rehearsed in
much rendered paintings. What refreshing when the wind caresses the pine and its aromatic scents
Permeate with thick layers and cloak the sometime over powering affects of people in close quarters.
The west end how beautiful the arroyo what idyllic quarters for our fine mounts with out them we
would be impoverished our food would be in short supply if we had only deer and antelope but with
the horse the mighty Bison serves us with his rich bounty. Sadly this life is gone from the great plains the
mountains and the cliffs and the mesa country sometimes it is strangely carried on the wind I hope you
found it as a refreshing breeze that cleared a little bit of the clutter out of modern life. When heaven’s
Portal opened for Churchill he spoke these words I paraphrase as eternal night beacons I can hear the
Bugler blowing those mournful taps they invade and pass over innumerable army forts and fortresses
in life camp must be broken but take heart know this the same bugler who blows taps will sound revalee
at the eastern gate.
This is just a trip an excursion if that is alright it will weave in and out of the past the present and the
Imaginary its purpose a ripple in time for each of us a breather a drift time pressure to great and
Bothersome take this temporary exit off the beaten path into the rugged raw world of to whom some
Called savage. The story picks up with a brave mounted on a great paint coloring that is most identifiable
With Native American tribes. The place a large encampment tepees stretch for a mile down this high
Mountain meadow the rider’s duty ride the perimeter of this congress of souls that have made this
There sheltering land for the moment because they follow the dictates of nature its rhythms and
harmony they skillfully read they are at the front of this wave the human instrument that nature
displays her docility her range of emotions show in the lines of this people’s faces. The drawings on
Their ever movable homes tell the stories the time when the great storm came but the deliverance
provided by the great Spirit is depicted nature is their natural guide but it too has a master a benevolent
one then the drawing of the great battle the loss was evident on many tepees horseless rider the burial
altar built high offering this sacrifice of suffering and loss earth is bound in a struggle all who journey
here will shed tears and know sorrow but from agony tortured spring a new generation streams forth
Replenishing and building the future and in only such lovely ones can the separated be truly honored
And preserved. The village banks their fires against the night wind the rider rides on they nestled the
village up to the mountain on the north side to hamper the winds as they continue their endless quest
to dominate and wreck any or all disturbance your job take the advantage when you can the mountain
Not only is beautiful and the pine and lone coyote howling at the sorrowing moon is a well rehearsed in
much rendered paintings. What refreshing when the wind caresses the pine and its aromatic scents
Permeate with thick layers and cloak the sometime over powering affects of people in close quarters.
The west end how beautiful the arroyo what idyllic quarters for our fine mounts with out them we
would be impoverished our food would be in short supply if we had only deer and antelope but with
the horse the mighty Bison serves us with his rich bounty. Sadly this life is gone from the great plains the
mountains and the cliffs and the mesa country sometimes it is strangely carried on the wind I hope you
found it as a refreshing breeze that cleared a little bit of the clutter out of modern life. When heaven’s
Portal opened for Churchill he spoke these words I paraphrase as eternal night beacons I can hear the
Bugler blowing those mournful taps they invade and pass over innumerable army forts and fortresses
in life camp must be broken but take heart know this the same bugler who blows taps will sound revalee
at the eastern gate.
