"I'm going to Gallywinter and there ain't no girls allowed,
I guess things are different now, times have changed.
A girl is nice to have with you while you're riding on the range,
She can make you breakfast and talk to you at night
You can argue about things you never thought
You'd argue about in your whole life," - Galleywinter, Pat Green

It turned cold again today and I love it. But there is something about it that makes me think of the same thing each time the winter approaches. Its not so much a dream as a hope or an idea I suppose.

I wake up, in a fine old ranch house built of rock, wood and tin. It sits high atop a hill and looks over the ranch land below. The smell of fresh cedar floats through the air, whipped up by the winds somewhere on the rolling plains of Texas. Beautiful orange sunlight pours into my bedroom through ancient windows in the east. I feel the cool crisp air from the open window across my nose, but the bed is warm and the blankets heavy. I roll over and there she is... warm soft skin, beautiful long hair, all dressed in white cotton and wrapped in rough wool blankets. No makeup, no high heeled shoes, no fancy dress and she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

She smiles and moves closer.

Later, coffee on the couch. Breakfast on the porch. Friends and dogs approach over the ridge. Quail fly. Carhartts cold to the touch. Melting snow drips from the corners of a tin roof. Warm gun barrels return in the afternoon.

When the birds are cleaned and dinner is done the house is quiet again. We sit and watch as the sun sets in the dust of a cold Texas night. The days come and go like that, things change, people move slower, hair turns gray. But she is there each morning for as long as I can imagine.

Who is she? I don't know, but each winter I think about her. I know she is out there and I hope one day to know her. Maybe I already do, maybe I never will.

So here is to the girl in white cotton... Maybe she will meet me at the rock house upon the hill.