ranchers

the day is gray. it looks and feels like a thick wool blanket in a cold house; like coming home from work late, a cold blanket wrapped around you as you get the fire going.

a coal train blows through town, whistling at crossings. it's a long one - 2 engines in the front, 2 in the middle, 2 in the rear. probably 200 coal cars or more.

pickups and sedans move up and down fish creek falls road; south of town around the curve on highway 40; like a trail of ants.

evergreens are black. white snow. brown scrub oak. rust red buildings downtown, left over from another era; now they're restaurants, salons, t-shirt shops.

this town deals in experience. its commerce is exhiliration. its end product is happy families.

but the ranchers, the holdouts, the 5th generation cowboys are its soul. they hole up in their houses 20 miles out, drop hay bales in the negative early morning cold, and come into town for groceries or prescriptions, only when they have to.

this valley is made of separate worlds.