A quiet breeze drifts through town.
A lonely tumbleweed rolls along the deserted street.
Buildings, long since abandoned, groan with their own
weight
Shutters creak as they swing on rusty hinges.
All are gone, all is silent.
In the middle of the street, alone,
A figure appears in the dusty haze.
He walks closer,becoming ever clearer.
A handsome man with intense blue eyes,
Dressed in black, head to toe.
He turns, heading toward the saloon.
Once broken, creaking doors are like new,
Swinging easily as he enters.
The saloon, moments ago dead, springs to life.
A tune emanates from the piano and there’s a shuffling
of cards.
To the right, four men sit around a small table,
A deck of cards and a bottle of whiskey in their midst.
A gentleman in a fancy red coat reaches to the center
to collect his winnings,
The sparkle in his eye matching that of his golden tooth.
The man to his right leans back, tucking his hand in
his waistband,
A broad grin under his full mustache.
Next to him sits a handsome black man,
With a healer’s hands and an angel’s smile.
Finishing up the table is a tall fellow, a symbol of
a lost faith around his neck,
And a look that is pious and wild all at once.
The stranger in black walks up to the bar,
Greeting a man, dressed in tracker’s clothes,
Leaning against the bar, observing all with a keen eye.
The calm is broken in a moment,
A young lad rushes through the door in a flurry,
Black hair hanging in his eyes, a brown bowler hat in
his hands.
He speaks excitedly to the others. In one fluid motion,
all seven turn to leave.
There is a cohesiveness and loyalty between them that
cannot be described.
They are seven individuals, yet one unit as they stride
purposefully out the door.
They mount their rides and head away from town.
Slowly, they become but a speck on the horizon,
Dust following their trail.
As the dust settles, the town again is silent.
A quiet breeze drift through town,
A lonely tumbleweed roles along the deserted street.