Spring, the wild flowers blooming, thunder boomers coming by to visit. A breeze off the water flows over you and if you close your eyes feels like water skiing at Tahoe. Fresh cut clover and timothy hay smells drift across the meadow. Saddle leather creaks and groans, or maybe that's me. Horses and dogs are sweaty from working cattle. Warm days, cool nights. One spring I tied notes to tumbleweeds rolling by, never heard back.