Western Video 7 (Beyond the edge of the desert’s dry heat)

Where the sagebrush and salt-spray finally meet,
A line of six riders moves steady and slow,
Across sands where the tide used to ebb and to flow.

The sky is a canvas of brilliant, deep blue,
With clouds like white mountains, towering and true,
Stacked up in the heavens like pillows of fleece,
Presiding o'er a landscape of quiet and peace.

In the lead is a stallion of golden-tan hide,
With a rider in crimson, a guide for the ride;
His hat tilted forward, he scans the far shore,
As the rhythmic sea-breath begins its soft roar.

Behind him, the others in sequence appear,
In jackets of azure and ochre and gear,
Their horses—dark bays and chestnuts so bold—
Tread light through the pebbles and dust of the gold.

To the left rise the mountains, a jagged, red spine,
That traces the coast in a long, dusty line;
To the right is the ocean, a shimmering turquoise,
Distant and vast, drowning out human noise.

The waves roll in gently with crests of white foam,
Far from the ranch and the comforts of home,
While a sliver of moon hangs pale in the light,
Waiting for stars and the coming of night.

No words pass between them, just leather and hoof,
Underneath the sky's high, vaulted roof;
Between the high peaks and the white-watered sea,
They ride through the edge of the world, wild and free.