Never thought I would see them, ah, they were beautiful; running free along the beach.
This is the west, gold miners, timber barons, the Pacific, what are they doing here?
Must be about thirty of them, all wild and untamed; running like they’re on a mission for God himself.
Marty wrote a song about a horse once, “on Wildfire we’re gonna ride,” good song, plants a good vision; but this sight, it’s something.
Just walking down the beach, out of nowhere they came, running right past me like I wasn’t even there; they owned the beach.
Think they were just sharing it with me, you see that much mass coming your way, at breakneck speed; it’s sure not you that owns the beach.
If your smart, you just get well out of the way, stand there in the sand and watch those wild horses run.
Old Wrinkles, he was a hand at a local ranch, stopped by there one day, they had him in the back of the old Chev.
Blackie, he was a tan bronk, gave more black and blue marks than rides, guess in his running around he hit old Wrinkles.
Knocked him way down in the dirt, now Wrinkles is bouncing around in the bed of that old Chev on his way to the Doc’s.
Old Wrinkles, hope he’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna shoot that Blackie, he’s too unruly; needs to be put down. A short snort cowboy said.
The owner, a top of the hill sort, fought hard for his horse ranch, and to keep it, no one’s gonna shoot that horse he said.
Takes a bigger man to understand, than to fight or kill something, if the horse can’t become gentle, then we will let him run free, don’t want to see a hair harmed on him, from brow to tail said the owner.
Wrinkles was good as new, needed some rest and arnica for the black and blue marks, and Blackie became the Lady of the ranches horse, enough said there.
Thinking of the Bankers, and Blackie, both of the same free heart, all they really want to do is run free, kick up some sand; in Blackie’s case, some corral dust and old Wrinkles.
But watching that remuda run off down the beach, can’t get that feeling in a fifth of whisky, not even the good stuff from Jack’s own vault.
More often than not, Nature has a splendor to her, she gets your attention in a bodacious way, that never lets go.
Could almost swear to it, my word against anyone else’s, one of them winked at me as it ran past; could be he knew I wasn’t about to take his freedom.
Sat there for about an hour, my jaw all slacking and gaping, wondering where they came from, where they went; yeah boy, that was an astonishing moment.
Thinking, to run free like the Bankers West.