Mountain-“Storm”!
I
had “smelled” the coming mountain thunderstorm at mid-morn.
The
wild-mustang leader sensed the-change, also; he was nervous.
Always
on-edge, extremely-alert, he seemed “jumpy”, more-so than
usual.
I-spied on the herd from atop a location a half-mile from the
water-hole
El Diablo, my nickname for the
wild-stallion because of
his
acumen for discerning-trouble and his ferocious-temper, led his
accommodating
mustang-harem for a water-respite each evening.
Being
careful to remain downwind, as much as possible while
constantly
trying to out-wit the swirling-winds prevalent near a
mostly-barren
tree-line summit still cold with winter snow relentlessly
fighting
the warming coming-of-spring thaw all-the-while being
careful
to-keep my-profile obscured by any scrub-evergreen further
up
the-mountain so that “The-Devil” did
not catch me in-profile
against
a darkening cerulean-sky patchwork white with fluffy-clouds.
Should
my-nemesis snatch a slight-odor from my putrid-body in the
uncertain
wind-swirls, no-alarm bells would assault his acute-senses;
I
had not bathed in a-month! Whew! I
smelled “rank”, even to-myself!
Sunset
was about to make its daily-appearance within an-hour; the high-
mountain
daylight was fast-fading. With-“Luck”, the stallion might
cache
his harem-herd in the boulder-strewn tiny-valley among the
copse
of fir and pine and spruce trees for the-night to weather the
coming
early-spring storm onslaught. Natural-protection afforded a
harbor
from the-disturbance, also keeping his mares close-by. I-wish!
The-gods
seemed to be with me in my time-of-need; I had been on
the-trail
of the smart and elusive El Diablo
for several-weeks. Ugh!
Lightning
flashed in dark-clouds momentarily before the roll-of-thunder
split
the alpine-silence; the-steed tensed, but, did not-flee. A-chance!?
A
horizontal-crevice offered-me a comfort-“bed”
and harbor from the-storm.
If the-herd
bolted, unlikely, now that the first cold immense-drops of icy-rain
Touched
my face, I’d hear them though pursuit in the storm would be impossible.
I
scurried into the refuge-“hole”, wrapped my slicker close around my shivering-
body,
got-comfortable(?) and munched myself
to-sleep chewing a hard-biscuit.
I-awoke
to an icy-world! El Diablo and his harem waited-below.
In
another two-weeks I managed to lasso only one of his mares. “Stormy” is a fine-mount!
The
high-mountain valley-meadows returned to-life with spreading emerald-Green!
El Diablo!?---“The-Devil!
Waits!...Next-Fall!? We play our delicious-game!...Again!
Amen!
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