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Black Tulip 1: A Song of Texas
By
Shotgun011

Black Tulip 1: A Song of Texas

Texas

Sitting here one morning here in the “great white North”, as the temperature falls and hovers right above zero. As I think about an email slideshow I have gotten from an old friend who is back in the heat and blue skies of Southwest Texas,-
Where the warm winds are blowing and the roads seem to go on forever in a place that I haven’t thought of much lately, as I hear about the temperature difference and have been asked what I like about Texas. And as I look out at the drifting snow I can feel my mind drifting back to answer that question about that outlaw republic loosely allied with the United States.

It seems so long ago and far away when I once walked through those high desert plains, and I know that there are songs, stories, and music buried in the dirt there in what was once considered home but didn’t seem or feel like it when I was there,-
Where the sunsets looked like ingots of burning red and gold, but the vision or the epiphany that I had told me to get away and seek the truth that I knew was here. As I rolled it all up and made a reservation in answer to an invitation, changing what some said about me being born there and dying there against my will, as well as their comments that I would be back. And one who knows the real me knows that to me never means never.

Now drifting back and recalling fields of blue bonnets mixed with Indian paintbrushes along with groves of oak and pecan trees from the Sabine to the Rio Grande Rivers. Along with day trips to Mckittrick Canyon, rafting on the Frio River and in Big Bend, and walking down the River Walk,-
Driving down the old Spanish Camino Real from El Paso to San Antonio to see and remember The Alamo and thoughts of those who fought and died to forge an independent republic on the banks of the Brazos River. And drinking cold Lone Star beer at the Hemisphere Plaza and at the historic Buckhorn Saloon.

Watching the Houston Oilers and Astros play in the Astrodome , staring in awe at the Saturn V rocket that took us to the moon at NASA’s Johnson Space Center. And standing on the Sixth Floor of the old Texas Schoolbook Depository overlooking Dealey Plaza in the West End District of Dallas and recalling 22 November 1963,-
Sitting at Cattleman's for steaks in the Fort Worth Stockyards, As well as going to the State Fair and having seen Notre Dame beat Texas for the national championship in the Cotton Bowl. Or seeing the Texas A&M Aggies beat them in football and the UTEP Miners beat them in basketball.

Seeing Bob Dylan perform in the Don Haskins Center, and The Rolling Stones in the Sun Bowl, and crossing the Rio Grande to head south of the border for either some Carta Blanca or Bohemia beer along with a burrito or a plate of carnitas as we got a bit of cultural exchange,-
And I will never forget the smell and taste of homemade Mexican food that can be found all over the city I came from and all over the state. With things like; carne adovada , puerco adobo , chile colorado con carne o puerco , along with the fresh menudo sold from Mexican bakeries on Sunday mornings . And most of all the fresh homemade sopapillas , tortillas de maize, and tamales made by my Abuelita in her kitchen.

So I guess that answers the question I was asked about what I like about Texas along with the wide open spaces along with the diversity of culture that the people who live there have created. And now I carry all of this as memories that are like old photographs that are kept in the pockets of an old raincoat; the one that hangs in the back of the closet that is very seldom worn and surprises us with what we find in the pockets and see what we find when we reach in the pockets on those few rare occasions that it is taken out and worn.

When I moved to this North Country Fair where the winds occasionally blow cold and heavy on the borderline, I knew I was giving all of that up with no hesitation or secret evasion of the mind or with any regrets when I left to start the next or last chapter of my life. Though I do miss those friends I have there still, but they are all just a phone call, email, or letter away.

Copyright February 2015 – 1:Timberwolf International LTD .

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