The Purple Dawn: A Cowboy’s Journey Through Mist and Morning Light
The morning unfurls like a slow exhale across the prairie.
At first, the sky is cool and weightless, awash in pale purples and soft indigos that dissolve into the faintest hints of misty blue.
The horizon blurs — not sharp, but melted — as if the night and day are still speaking in hushed tones.
A faint layer of lavender mist clings low to the grasses, wrapping the landscape in a thin, silvery veil.
The dew on each blade catches the early light, glinting not gold, not yet — but pearl-white, touched with the gentlest violet sheen.
From the distance, Jesse rides slow, his silhouette part of the mist.
The familiar curve of his worn hat leans forward slightly against the cold air, and Silverleaf’s breath puffs out in soft clouds, momentarily tinged purple by the breaking light.
The world holds still, caught in the fragile wonder between dream and waking.
No birds call yet.
Only the whisper of hooves pressing into damp earth, and the far-off sigh of a breeze, lifting little ribbons of fog into the awakening sky. 🌅💜
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| Maybe today's the day the wind brings me an answer... or maybe just another song. |
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