Owen Taylor
Bio
Stories (19/0)
Aurora
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Before the dance on this particular night, we sat snuggled together on the porch bench, wrapped up together under comforters tugged, pulled, drug from warm upstairs beds. Daughter one on the left, daughter two on the right. A rare occasion for the girls, their mom allready long to bed, hated me letting them stay up for the spectacle. I'd like to think it was different for them, believed they loved me telling again how the heavenly show came to be.
By Owen Taylorabout a year ago in Fiction
Castle Rock
Right before you fall off the northern edge of Montana into that place called Canada, is where my immediate family stopped. My summers in that middle of nowhere spot are layered with some of my fondest memories. I've heard various stories and not a few speculations as to why that was the spot to restart life. The war to establish who owned who had been over half a decade before my great grandad wagon trained and herded north. The homestead act was probably the impetus. If anything great gramps was not only a hard worker but entrepreneurial. He and his Schooler bride helped family in Saskatchewan raise wheat, but also establish a large horse ranch just south of Castle rock. I've only know the spot as buzzards glory, or Benruds bench. As a young lad three years shy of being able to obtain a driver's license, being let loose to drive a tractor larger than my first studio apartment, dragging a toolbar,all worth more than my first house was a mythical adventure. Every other, hot, dusty, July weekend, my grandad would drive off to play cards, eat chinese food and judge Canadian horse shows, leave three wild boys alone to fix fence, swim the pond, plink ground squirrels, to bank a nickel for every tail, making sure to get a few, in and out of every cooley no seat belts, bench seat bouncing open prairie rides in "RED", my personal favorite family hero, cousin J.D, spinning the suicide knob hitting every gopher hole trying to keep up with a baker's dozen or so mostly wild spotted ponies.
By Owen Taylor2 years ago in Families
Millcreek Walk
The duo easy road walked the 5 miles in from snowbank, found site ninety nine early evening. Bivouac, simple, gear dropped-N- propped, day packs back to back, bedrolls out, pulled up close to the dakato fire they had dug. Dinner, MRE's pulled from each ruck. Water boiled over the smokeless fire poured first, into the pouches of the ever popular shake and squeeze lasagna, then splashed into the odd colored NASA engineered mix of sweetener, creamer, and "coffee". As they sporked, bite by bite, each red sauce drenched gluten morsel, the freinds chatted, buddy junk, occassionally sharing the chore of adding twigs and wrist sized chunks to the fire hole. They settled in water skins and extras zipped up with them, then watched each star pop alive first one by one, then by handful's to fill the nights deep blue dome with swirling moving pins of light, the spectacle kept them talking too late.
By Owen Taylor2 years ago in Earth
Where they stood still
I dont know about you but, every long road trip starts with getting a tank full of gas and a car wash at, the drive through soap and rinse. I sit buckled in, watch the purple and pink foam melting down the front window, I second guess turning the wipers on, does the rainbow foam do a better job if I let it slide down, or does giving it a wipe push the bug guts off better.
By Owen Taylor2 years ago in Families
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