Don’t Fence Me In


By guest author Vol Lindsey

On the edge of town, here
on my stretch of Rt. 66,
the world is big and empty.
It rolls south across the
Llano Estacado toward
the Palo Duro, a complication
of landscape where the Red River
meanders in all it’s various
incarnations. The North Fork,
The Salt fork, The East Fork,
The Prairie Dog Town Fork.
From where I am standing,
the thirty years of insignificant

rain has reduced the palette to
various shades of amber, brown
and slate green. The sky is empty
and the tricky plains with all its
hidden washes and ravines
harbor the coyote, deer and
antelope you know are there
without a trace. Even the cattle
seem to give your eye the slip,
scattered as they are over the
meager slips of grass.
Some rancher, though has laid
hands on the wild world and,
divided it all with a perfect line
of Devil’s Rope strung tight
on metal posts and disappearing
in the hazy distance because,
somehow, we have never learned
to leave well enough alone.

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