The winter afternoon sun was dazzling and the sky was a shade of blue that defied description. It seemed to be felt as much as seen, as if the view was somehow transmitted from the eyes straight to the soul. The traffic was light, almost non-existent, even though old route 666 was clear and dry. To the north I saw nothing but the two-lane ribbon of asphalt stretching away from me outside of the town of Cortez. The San Juan Range was visible as the terrain rose higher. In the mirror I could see Mesa Verde standing guard to the south. Somewhere near Yellow Jacket a flash of movement caught my eye. I glanced to the left and slowed the truck and pulled to the side of the road to watch.
The ground rose on the west side of the road. Off in the distance I could see the Blue Mountains over in Utah. No longer blue, they wore their customary white winter cloak. It seemed to make them look taller and closer than normal. Maybe it was the clear air.
But what had caught my eye was the sight of two fine Pintos who had just been released from their corral. Their brown, white and black patches stood out against the horizon.
We can’t help but attribute human qualities to animals, even though we know it’s usually a silly thing to do. But as I watched the two Pintos break out into the white coated pasture I couldn’t help it. “Just like two kids who’ve dashed out of the house upon discovering the first snowfall”, I thought. If horses were given the gift of speech these two surely would have been heard laughing as they ran up the hill, kicking their heels up toward the sun.
As I sat and watched they were transformed. Their manes steamed back in the wind and tails were obscured in their wake of flying snow. The sun caught the icy crystals at just the right angle and small rainbows trailed the exuberant pair as they raced faster along the ridge. No longer laughing children, they became in my mind’s eye everything that is The West. Freedom, joy, courage, strength. The chilled air and frozen ground were nothing to them. The sky above was everything. The open range stretched before them as they slowed to a trot and then stopped. They turned and looked back at me, or at least I thought so. Then they were off. Down the other side of the ridge and lost from sight. For a few second the powdery ice crystals hung in the air, refracting the sunlight and sparkling as if the stars had come out long before their scheduled time.
“Well, that was nice”, I thought. Then, “No, not just nice. There’s a better word for it.”
I put the truck in gear and pulled back on to the road, headed north toward home again.
I still haven’t thought of that word to describe what I saw and how I felt. I think maybe I never will.
