Reach out and touch the horizon, my friends—out here on the Texan prairie, the savanna unfolds like a boundless canvas painted by the hand of God himself. It might seem a world away from those grand stretches of Africa's grasslands, but make no mistake, our open prairie is a savanna of a different sort—a sanctuary where the sky kisses the earth and where my heart beats in rhythm with the wild and steady pulse of the land.
As I sit here on my front porch, the cool morning breeze whispering tales of the yonder, I'm struck by the life brimming under this big ol' sun. Life out here is as untamed as a mustang's spirit, as vast as the sky's endless dome, and it's in these quiet moments of reflection that I truly feel at home.
The Texas savanna is a place of contrasts, where peaceful stillness collides with the cacophony of nature’s symphony. If you're still enough, the winds carry with 'em the distant rustle of the wild apple trees, the soft, lowing communications that I swear I can understand from my bovine companions, and the sharp cry of a red-tailed hawk circling overhead. It's an orchestra, conducted by the invisible hand of the prairie itself.
Now, a day in the life of a rancher might commence before that ol' rooster crows, but it ain't until that sun crests the horizon that this savanna truly wakes. As my boots thud against the dew-kissed earth, I make my rounds to ensure all is as it should be. In the pale golden glow of dawn, the prairie is a veil of mist—ethereal, enchanting, and for a moment it feels like I’ve stepped through a portal into a time when the earth was young and unspoiled.
My kin, a brood as wild as the untamed land, they come tumblin' out the front door, hootin' and hollerin', their hearts as free as the breeze. We work together, tending to our livestock, fixing a fence line here, a barn door there. It's hard work, mind you, but these hands of mine ain't won't to idle, and there's no labor I'd rather be burdened with than that which lets me live in communion with this savanna of the Lone Star State.
Joggling the youngsters on my knee after a long day's work (juggling while jogging, that is—keeps 'em gigglin’ and my spirits high), I impart the love I carry for this stretch of earth. Then, come evening, when the sunlight grows weary and the stars blink awake in that vast canvas above, I find solace in the elegant art of knot tying—a meditation of sorts that reminds me of the intertwined fates of man and nature.
But the savanna ain't all about hard work and quietude; it's a playground for adventure and the stage for many of my wilder encounters. I've danced at a respectful distance with howlin' wolves and raced the very shadows alongside wild mustangs. Nature never ceases to surprise us, to gift us with moments of sublime wonder, to dare us to live boldly and, by doing so, to truly live at all.
Even with the occasional backache—a memento from that youthful tangle with a bullish temperament—I stand firm like the ancient oak out yonder. Seasons change, the children grow as tall as the cornstalks, and the prairie shifts her colors, but like the sturdy oaks and the deep-rooted pines, I remain rooted in this savanna of my soul.
So, suffice it to say, if this old cowboy can offer you a nugget of wisdom it'd be this: Find your savanna, your place where the sky is big and the heart is free, where every moment is ripe with the sweet nectar of possibility. Out here on the prairie, amidst the boot prints and cattle trails, I've found mine. And I'll be here, living out my tales, sharing them with you, and holding the wild close to my heart.
Happy trails until we meet again,