The Cold Wind Blows

A lonely cowboy roams the vast distance of the desolate abyss that is called by many the desert, and by few paradise. He feels at home and alive for the first time in his life. The cool air enters his lungs and gives the crisp feeling in his chest. The stars appear to align just perfectly as his trusty stead speeds past cacti and humongous mesas and cliff sides. He looks into the night sky to see the full moon beating relentlessly upon the terrain. All of the wildlife within eyesight is perfectly illuminated. The bison drinking from the river mouth, the coyote looking for its next meal, and the cougar scouting the lonely cowboy and his horse. He ventures upwards to gain a better vantage point of his surroundings. His horse slowly climbs Dead Man’s Peak, the peak reportedly haunted by the ghosts from lynchings and firing squads. As he reaches the top of the peak, he feels a smooth, cold chill roll over his body. He reaches for his pistol, ready to draw at any moment. The chill rolls over, over, and away from his body as if granting his request to venture further onto the peak. He removes his hovering hand from over his pistol and takes hold of his stead’s reigns once again. As he approaches the cliff edge, he pulls snuggly on the reigns and the horse comes to a halt. He dismounts and ventures closer and closer to the edge. He sits down and lets his legs dangle over the edge, the landscape before his covered in death. From the bull skull near the dead trees to the cowboy hat lying in the middle of the trail with a bullet through it, everything in this paradise as he calls it is dying or dead. It is a sad reality for the cowboy. Physical life is not the only thing being lost. As the Industrial Revolution as the townsfolk affectionately call it creeps into the West like a deadly assassin killing the honest American’s way of life, there is less need of sheriffs and ranch hands and more need of train conductors and carriage drives. What happened? questions the cowboy to himself. He scoops up a fistful of sand and lets it release over the cliff edge. The dust slowly dissipates and vanishes into the midnight sky. Is this what is to come of his way of life? Dust in the wind vanishing into complete and utter darkness. He returns to his feet and looks one last time over his home, his paradise, his last bastion of humanity and sanity. His desert. He removes his bullet belt, Colt Peacemaker and all. He digs a small hole in the dirt of the peak and places his belt in the hole. He covers up the hole and makes a small tombstone to go over his impromptu burial.

“Here Lies the Wild, Wild West”





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