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Her Eyes

Time is a shadow slowly moving over the land; almost imperceptibly rolling toward the darkness as it rises in the east. The stories of the past have somehow become my own. As a child sitting in my grandmother’s lap stories of a time before my own came to life in her eyes. Her eyes were my window to family and friends that I would never know in physical reality.  
The stories were painted with love and tragedy all mixed together like a recipe being prepared for a great Thanksgiving feast. Through her eyes I was privileged to meet her father and mother. I felt their anguish as hail destroyed the wheat crop. I felt his joy at working with horses. I touched the reverence of her devotion to her faith.  
I learned of my grandfather’s childhood and his devotion to his mother. He died when I was three years old but through my grandmother’s eyes I saw the face of a teenager in love when she described their first meeting at the Palace Drug Store in Geneseo, Kansas.  
The generations come and go as families lay each saga of life over the land reminiscent of a great quilt being spread over the family cradle. My own daughter will give birth to my first grandchild in a little over a month. To my surprise I am about to become the window to the past. It will soon fall to me tell the stories to the wondering eyes of a new generation. With each word and memory my grandmother’s eyes will reflect in the mirror of time all those wonderful images of those who have gone before. But most of all I hope that my grandchildren will be able to see my grandmother’s eyes in my own as the future steadily moves toward the past. 
So Long, 
The Cowboy  


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