Sagebrush and Rodeo Dreams Give me a bronc that knows how to dance Blue roan in color and wicked of glance New to the feeling of bridle and bit Give me a quirt that will sting when it hits Strap on a blanket behind in a roll Toss me a lariat dear to my soul Over the trail let me gallop away Make me a cowboy again for a day. Don Edwards
I
I am far from the stone cathedral spires of the Rocky Mountains, the endless prairie, the untamed rivers that give life to them, the vast, immense spaces, indescribable light and colours of the wilderness of the American West, but it is never far from the heart, for in those places a long time ago I became a cowboy. I live now in a farmhouse in the South of France and it is a gift of circumstance that there’s a riding school next door. I am serenaded at night by neighing horses and they are the first thing I spy in the morning from my bedroom window. None pleases more than a painted pony, more of a Cheyenne warrior’s steed than an haute ecole charger in his patches of brown and white. He resembles a wild mustang from the New Mexico desert; the very sort of horse nineteenth-century cowboys once broke and turned into redoubtable, tireless and surefooted, cow-punching companions on their long cattle drives. I take it as a sign that the cowboy karma is still with me.
DANTEmag n.2
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By Chris Kline photos: Duke Beardsley studio 2011