“Hot Coffee, a Warm Fire and Shooting Stars”
In the still dark, chilly hours before dawn, a lone figure is moving quietly about. Taking a break from his morning ordeal of preparing the morning meal for the still sleeping cow camp, he pours himself a cup of strong, hot Arbuckles coffee. Not too far off in the distance, coyotes, as if lamenting the end of another prairie night, howl a haunting primal symphony.
The soothing warmth from the glowing campfire feels good on his old backside. It helps to relieve some of the aches and pains attributed to too many years busting broncs and working cattle, before retiring to the job of “trail cook.”
With his back to the campfire, he gazes around the still dark camp at the scattered lumps of canvas cocoons, inside each one, a sleeping cowboy. Some starting to show some life, moving a little, tempted by the smell of the Arbuckles, some still dead to the world in slumber.
In a flash, his attention is diverted upward as the black velvet sky suddenly lights up with the silvery streaking of a couple of shooting stars.
His backside now warmed, slowly, he takes a slurp from the tin cup, looks toward the sky and grins, what could be better, a hot cup of coffee, a warm fire and shooting stars. Thank you again Lord.