I listen to everything but RAP.
COUNTRY--Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Toby Keith, Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline
ROCK-- Van Halen, Alice Cooper, Black Eyed Peas
POP-- Nickelback, Enrique Iglesias
CLASSICAL

April Snow Showers 2007

Only in Texas---
If you loose your horse you can always saddle up a Longhorn. Do you think Heath or Nick would do this?



Here is a field of Bluebonnets



A close up of Bluebonnets



A Closer Close-up of bluebonnets.

The Legend of the Bluebonnet

The Texas fields are covered
With a blanket of deep blue.
But for a little Indian girl,
This would not be true.

Texas land was buried and dry.
Rains just would not come.
Indians danced and prayed for rain,
And beat upon their drums.

The Chief made a proclamation.
He appealed to one and all.
A prized possession must be sacrificed
Before the rains would fall.

The Indian camp was silent,
While each person searched his heart.
But when it came to sacrifice,
With possessions they would not part.

Suddenly a little girl stepped forth,
Holding her blue-clad doll.
She placed it in the roaring fire
and raindrops began to fall.

The rain brought forth the grass,
Among its blades, flowers of blue.
To be a sign for all the time
Of a love so pure and true.

Author Unknown

Respectively borrowed from
http://www.coedu.usf.edu/culture/Story/Story_Texas.htm

The Last Cowboy by Archie Hughs
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My pockets are empty. My back is sore.
My body is getting old. I can't ride no more.
Lord, I long to hear the cattle bawling soft and low,
the songs of old cowboys of long ago.
No More herd dust will I have to taste.
No more wild mavericks will I have to chase.
No more hobbled ponys a jingling their bells.
No more old stories will I have to tell.
No more riding circles on that cold winter day.
Lord let there be no more fencing and bailing hay.
But my nose catches an odor that I know so well,
dutch oven biscuits, oh what a smell.
But no more cook will I hear shout,
"Come and get them boys, or I will throw them out!"
No more sweaty saddle blankets beneath my head.
Now the clouds will be my bed.
Lord I can't ride any more,
cause'n my old pony is lame, tired, and sore.
So Lord, as I am heading up that last long hill,
the nights are long and cold and my bones are chilled.
But as my friends are gathering around to say goodbye,
I'll just say "heading home boys, so please don't cry.
Heading home to ride the big ranch in the sky."