The Fence Mender

We're up to page 43 in Ridin' for the Boss and the Brand. You know, if you had a CD copy of the book, you'd have listened to it a couple of times and passed it on to someone else by now. A friend told me yesterday that her computer repairman is a non-believer who saw printouts of some of my poems on her computer and said he was a fan of cowboy poetry. She is giving him one of my book CDs to listen to. You just never know, do you. OK, here goes:


"I was in those mountains at a Western music festival when inspiration jumped out at me in the form of a painting. It was in the merchant’s tent amidst the Elk horn lamps, rough hewn wooden tables and grandma’s feather beds. It spoke to me. Well, not really spoke to me, but you know what I mean.

The Fence Mender

Fresh Snow…Undisturbed…
except by the horse tracks behind him
and the sagebrush,
like polka dots on a bed sheet,
stretching to the mountains ahead.
He’s alone but far from lonely
as he rides up through the snow
along a sagging fence line
with the valley down below.
Pausing where the wire is down
this old fence mender looks around
to see if he can find a clue
of just what critter busted through.
But fresh snow…Undisturbed
covers any sort of sign
except those horse tracks back behind.
So he picks up the wire,
nails it back in its place
under gray skies that cover
this wide open space.
Then the clouds split apart
by shafts from the sun
as if they’re God’s spotlight
on a job that’s well done.
Shadows shorten.
Boot and horse tracks
melt together as one
and tight wire is all that’s left behind.

There is evidence of God everywhere we look. We just have to break free of our tunnel vision.