I never should have started with the old picture bit. This is another one that haunts me, not necessarily in a bad way though. This is another photo of Dad.
Spring is my favorite panhandle season. It usually happens on a Thursday.
Born in 1918, so I'm guessing early to mid 1930's? It's hard to tell his age, isn't it.
Those clothes don't fit, maybe the boots. Probably the riding heel boots he once said he lived and earned his living in.
Is that tie blowing a little? Maybe a calm spring day in the panhandle. Easter?
That road just disappears. It seems to go nowhere, or maybe it's just too much for the camera to take in.
How often do you think he was seen outside without a hat?
The whole thing seem so posed, so staged, but why this huge, empty stage? And yet, he seems to be staking a claim to this wide open space, just standing there like 'here I am.'
That pasture seems to be pretty green. Spring rains maybe.
Those tracks seem to be from pretty narrow wheels. Wagons maybe.
Those hands. Those black, working hands, so uncomfortable at his side wondering 'where are the damn reins.'