I wanna sleep at night beneath the stars above
While the moon goes climbin’ high
I wanna cook my coffee over cactus coals
Fifty miles from town.”
Shore glad you show’d up pard; sorry I wasn’t at the homestead last week. My little buckaroo from one of those eastern states and his Ma were over in Houston and I had to go pick them up. Let me tell you for sure–he is a live wire. Wish some of his energy would transfer over to this ol’ fence post. My mercy, I get tired just a-watchin’ him.
Hope you’re doin’ well. Good to know that the Lord is smilin’ down on us. Now, He’s isn’t always pleased with our doin’s but He is still our heavenly Father. Up to us to be makin’ Him smile. My, the world is sure in a tizzy, ain’t it? How ’bout that little banty over in North Korea struttin’ ’round? If it wasn’t so dangerous it would be funny.
For sure we’re goin’ nuts. I just found out that you can’t call a girl a girl anymore and definitely can’t call her pretty. Ol’ Chad Prather brought this to my attention over the week. It seems that it is an affront to their, hmmm, how can I put this without bringin’ an offense? Guess, I’ll just leave the subject all together, before someone turns me over to some feminist league. One thing for sure, my gal is sure pretty–there take that you crazy liberals.
Nice to be sittin’ here, drinkin’ coffee, didn’t mean to alarm you with my rantin’. If the crazies would just leave the rest of us ol’ fence posts alone, well that would be to my likin’. However, makes one realize the importance of checkin’ their cinch before mountin’.