One of the benefits of living in rural Texas is that you can marvel at the sheer greenness of the grass as you ride your horse through the Lone Star State’s verdant water meadows.
My philisophical pal, GWB, would say that Texas is locked into radical mimetic rivalry with the Emerald Isle. He’s heavily influenced by some Frenchman called “Girard.”
Then you get out in the open and pick up a gallop, wind in your face and Frenchmen forgotten as your horse’s neck lengthens and she gets into her stride. Charge! No end of exhilaration.
Ride over, head off to the ranch’s range and test out a rifle. Just you, the gun and the countryside in the setting sun.
I like the muzzle flash as dusk closes in, not that I’m immature or anything. Come to think of it, tracers might be neat too…
God Bless Texas,