I see the rainbows on the mist. It's never really mattered much if I was short on fishing skill. With God's own glory all around, my eyes have always caught my fill. I'm western born and western bred- fed on elk and bannock bread. The Beartooth's beckon.
Spring is near.
It's time to pack the camping gear. It's time to spread my wings and soar into those distant peaks once more. Alfalfa gettin heavy, time to cut again. Horn flies work the roundup, as young bull turns to steer. Drive a Waddie crazy, flying ear to ear.