I am alone.Nothing but a patch of light ahead to follow.Nothing around,except crickets clinking and clattering.I chase the light, keep up with it.My only companion.The beat of my engine,my second heartbeat. I admit, I have revved it up many times in the past few hours.Just to beat solitude.To fake an entity,riding along with me,roaring,talking,just being there.Look up and I find purple.Stealing the night away from black.It's there all around me.I cut through the ink, so fast, as if afraid, it were to devour me in its hue.
First Light kisses chrome. The sky wakes up,to another day.Stretching its arms lazily,slowly,out into sunshine.Reclaiming its rightful territory, from darkness.The Master's first stroke, a splash of blue on his canvas. I 'hear' the world wake up.In the lady with the water pot.In the cattle rhythmically chewing gut.In the smiles of kids, joyously waving at anything that passes by.In those eager faces, with hay strewn on the ground, looking for vehicles, praying for heavier ones. In those young men, arrogantly striding with a twig carelessly clenched between their teeth.In the radio, blaring a vaguely familiar tune, from a faraway teashop.
Another stroke on the Master's canvas.This time a bright splash of yellow.The cool breeze that rode all night with me, reluctantly brushing away, fading. The second heartbeat drowns, amidst the din of familiar sounds. More companions join me on my ride.More real (or are they?). Shadows shorten under me. The sun creeps up overhead.The yellow brightens. Faces, I see a lot of them.Everywhere, all around me. Riding with me.Each a different colour in itself.Colour, of a different kind,The kind you cannot see, just feel.Some colours intrigue me.There are others that enchant me, still others I detest, a few I cant stand. The few that I really love. Faces, join the ride and disappear along the trail. They all join and leave.But leave,they do, they must. I remember some faces, more clearly than others.They leave, as randomly as the serpentine trail ahead, no reason, no order in its sweeps and curves.
The trail, its curves,yes,it draws my attention to it.Puts me in a trance, hypnotic.As I lose myself to it, it reveals the rhythm in its randomness.
I look up to find myself, for a moment,still.The world and all its splendid landscape moving in a screen past me.I watch, merely a mute spectator, as the scene changes past me so fast.I see the trail change into a narrow path.Even quicker it morphs into a jungle, primitive and untouched. Im as afraid of it as much as I love it. I shut my eyes, open throttle and deafen myself to all the cacaphony around. Until, I hear only my heartbeat again.Both of them.
I open my eyes.The Master's been busy.Im swept into a crimson tide.The road ahead is straight.And long, really long.Seemingly flowing into the cleft between two mountains.And in this melange, I witness the Master's masterpiece. The sun is a majestic, soothing amber.Splendid, as I ride into it.I am alone.I am... the last cowboy.
