"Wind in the Wire"
Way out yonder grasses blow,
The wind sings through the wire,
Way before the sun comes up,
A horseback man for hire.
He trailers horse and saddle,
Far on rough back roads,
To reach the place where he will ride,
He stops and then unloads.
Up those steep and winding trails,
The cattle he must find,
Moves them where they ought to be,
And few he leaves behind.
Sun rises high, day gets warm,
He hunts himself some shade,
The coffee black and apple sweet,
The lunch before he made.
Then off again across the range,
In vast and silent space,
Finds more cows and pushes on,
The wind upon his face.
He checks the time and knows just when,
The sunlight soon will go,
And though it’s almost summertime,
There comes a storm of snow.
Old horse shivers, collar turned,
His coat is in the truck,
Has he grown forgetful?
Or maybe just bad luck.
The snow gets gone and pretty quick,
The last few cows he sees,
Then finally the wind dies down,
To just a gentle breeze.
He drives cows through the water trap,
And closes gate behind,
His thumb he mashes in the latch,
The boss man bought that kind.
He stops and listens to the sounds,
He breathes the desert scents,
He thinks how few can live this way,
And all it represents,
To those who live their lives inside,
And think a horseback man,
Must be a throwback to a time,
When folks lived near the land.
He guesses they are prob’ly right,
But shudders in his mind,
Of just how stressful it would be,
The city life to find.
He lifts his rein and says a prayer,
Removes black hat to bless,
The name of One who made it all,
And feels the wind’s caress.
He turns and rides back down the range,
Cranks the truck and goes,
Slowly cross the rocky trail,
And in his heart he knows,
That fewer are the horseback men,
Who choose to live this way,
Though they preserve a way of life,
That may not always stay.
She’ll greet him at the back porch door,
She’ll ask about his day,
And he’ll describe the things he saw,
The desert’s broad display.
And as they fall asleep a-bed,
He listens and he hears,
The wind a-singing through the wire,
The way it has for years.
“…and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth.” (Ephesians 4:24, NAS)
Authenticity is sometimes hard to find. We just had the “National Day of the Cowboy” on Saturday, and I thought about the many real cowboys I have known. One of them is the subject of this poem, a friend named John Babb, who lives in Idaho. He’s the real deal. I’ve also known some pretenders and posers. I suppose the popularity of “Yellowstone” has revived the desire for people to be cowboys. This may serve as a kind of parable or object lesson about authentic Christians. By the grace of God, let’s endeavor to be the real thing.
Lord, help us to authentically represent You, in Jesus’ name.
Art by Mark Maggiori, used by permission. Thanks, Mark, and God bless you.