As a teen my knees buckled at the sight of a young man playing guitar. I still think there is something magical watching someone play the guitar, more so than any other musical instrument. Add blue jeans, a horse and campfire and the picture speaks of freedom. I experienced this on a holiday a couple of years ago.
One of the most memorable holidays I have ever had was in the far north of Western Australia, in the East Kimberley Region. I stayed at a cattle station for nearly a week. It was pretty basic accommodation, open air shower, cattle, horses, emu and wallaby country. The beautiful brolas (cranes) called at night. I would lie in my cabin in the dark and record the sounds of big winged birds fly overhead in their hundreds, and all the other nature calls of the night.
I’m leaving again in a few hours for a few weeks of hard travel, some work, some play. I’ll take the memory of Joe’s lifestyle with me.
Until then
a dawn bird
In response to RDP Tuesday – Guitar
via Daily Prompt: Uncompromising
I was in the outback, far north, staying at a cattle station just before the mustering began.
Standing by the corral at dawn, I didn’t notice him while he worked, so entranced was I, by it all. 
But when he stood patiently waiting for toast to turn brown, sipping billy tea from a tin mug, “g’day” escaping from the corner of his mouth, he caught my eye. 
He had an aura. It was how he worked the horses, that made him unique.
Later that day, my hearing acute, I heard his spurs clink as he walked the length of the verandah and out of sight. He returned showered, unrecognizable, without the red dust that powdered him. 
He sat down slowly, as if in pain, guitar cradled in his lap, a beer clenched in a calloused fist. His feet were bare, untouched by the sun they glowed…
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A Shared Space 