Currently I live in a very small, rural town in Texas where time has stopped and life seems as though it is 1950ish. Each morning I take my cup of coffee, sit in my expansive living room of the old 1897 building I currently somewhat call home although never really been comfortable in this town to say truly it is home. I write in my journal to balance my life, my thoughts and to set me on course for the day. It has been my method of beginning for many, many years now. Sometimes pages and pages are filled, other times it is only a paragraph or two. Never the less it allows me to work through many many things. And since I have lived in this little town, it has been the sounding board of what to do and how to escape this place.
The morning is usually quiet although there is the rude intrusion of an over zealous train engineer who somehow gains a great masculine rush it seems by laying on the horn of the train. As I write of where I will go when the building sells….and oh how I long for that to happen, I try to calculate, justify, work out in my mind on paper what is the best, most logical move to make. My heart lays open on the east coast. I simply fit in better. The people are more real and while there are scumbags like anywhere at least they are more obvious then the sweetness that covers the viciousness of this small town.
On paper I entertain the thought of a nearby town which has a different tone. I entertain it only because of the cost of living. Not because it draws me in as a great place to be. A place for my soul. It seems a solid logical move to make. A base of operations so to speak. Then I hear the cry of a cow and since I live in the downtown area of the town, it can only be a cow who is trapped a few blocks away at the ever so popular BBQ place which I can not even consider patronizing. It is there behind that ever popular place that cows meet their demise. And they know as the one crying this morning. Rarely can I hear them yet this morning as it goes with messages being delivered to the soul, the cow’s cry came as I thought once again I could live in a small country town in Texas to keep my cost down.
In my heart I know that cost is higher then on paper. It is a cost to my soul. It rips at my heart and mind. It tears me apart the treatment of animals. The attitude of its people. The backward mindset of how one should live their life and the viciousness of the open enjoyment of another’s demise. It is that cow’s cry that reminds me this is not for me nor is any other small town in Texas. Even though I grew up in this state, there is a time delay in someways of the mindset. There are big hats, big chests….big boots. There is a cockiness to the walk and a sweetness to the voice that veils the motives. And just like the cow, I cry to escape.
So the cry of the cow nudges me to be aware that while this is for some, it is not for me. And so the message is received.