Clearcut- Coming Summer 2017

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I guess she swore off love somewhere between Tennessee and Montana. The pain she felt as she rolled through the hills of North Carolina, the tears that rolled down her cheeks as she crossed late night into Tennessee dried with the sunrise. The world behind her, a miasma of pain and loss. Who was he? The man who brought so much to her heart and yet destroyed her world? A world she’d built from pain and sacrifice. Did he even know what his machinations has caused? She hit the gas as she rolled for the Kentucky border. Who was he and why had such a brief encounter disturbed her world so much? She could still smell the fresh cut earth, she could still feel his embrace that made everything good in a bad and evil world. She could smell the musk of him as their eyes locked, the magic of their embrace that night under the hot Carolina moon . But she’d read him wrong, or so she guessed. The look in his dark eyes was fire, passion and eternity. Yet he’d sold out. She reached a hand over and caressed Duke the ancient hound that had refused to leave her rig when  she’d loaded Lycan and rolled out. Storms a still arching  behind her over the Carolina hills. Yet sun was cresting over the great Mississippi as she rolled into Missouri, gateway to the West. She wiped her eyes and drove on . He was simply, not what she had had thought.

 

Ash Denton stared in the mirror as he straightened his tie. The tinkling of glasses at the party below a background to his existence but not to his heart. He raised his eyes to the TV on the wall. A news story played out from one of those small towns that never really effected a man of means such as himself. Yet it rolled across the screen. His blood drained, there she was, the blonde from his project, his saboteur. And by all the Gods known to mankind the woman he loved more than life itself. “Don’t deny it Ash” he told himself. Not a minute had passed since he had touched back down into his world of high rollers and city lights that he’d not thought of her. Smelled her essence and  felt her heat which had absorbed his soul under that hot Carolina moon. The news story was simple, a dam broke in the new development up on the hill, flooding the low country. His dam. His project. The blonde stared at the camera, golden eyes, heartbreak and tears running down a gilded, freckled cheek. As the story rolled the sound of gunfire echoed in the background. The announcer said no lives had been lost but a mule had been put down. Luke, his breath caught in his throat. He stared at the screen, the gun fire, and the blonde winced in pain. Here he stood, millions at his disposal, a party in full swing celebrating some achievement, of his of which he had no clue. His body went limp his breath would not come. Ash Denton, always so in control felt his world spin.

 

Tessa Mcreary pushed her rig across the river towards the Missouri countryside. She had stopped along the way to walk the big stallion Lycan and the acceptance at the truck stops had been great. A leggy golden blonde accompanied by a golden horse, well the thumbs up had been many. A girl in love with a black eyed city man who had broken her heart was another story.  A story that was one she would never let anyone read. The gunshots from when she’s lost Luke the mule echoed in her brain and she so wanted to hate him, the man from the city who had destroyed her gentle world. But by all the stars in the sky, she could not. She could simply follow the only path she’d ever known and run from the pain. So she rolled west, towards the big sky, anonymity and freedom. Put that time with him in her past if she  could, but she could still feel his eyes, those moments of being lost in them, his touch,moments complete.

Some point before the acceptance speech, Ash Denton, man of fortune, leader of business, just went crazy . He had heard the gunshots , seen her pain all on a video screen and felt detached from his world, yet it was his world, this one of power in which he reigned.  yet, he couldn’t smell the earth, hear the roar of the waters, save Luke, nor her. With all his power, all his money, a world outside of his grasp had spun wildly out of control. The crystal glass of high end vodka turned end over end as he threw it at the screen. A man who had just realized being a man meant so much more than accolades and millions. A man whose heart pulsed with a wild undying love written on the stars and uncompromised by the restrictions of society proper. He tore his tie from his neck and headed for his car, I-95 would take him south, he’d hit the blue ridge by dawn. So this is the story Ash Denton, a man of incalculable  means chasing his heart into the night and this is the story of Tessa Mcreary, a runner from a world that had caused her pain and heartache.  Yet this is the clashing of souls, the story of destiny and the story of love beyond the boundaries.

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Roses to run for….

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What the heck has happened to the Kentucky Derby? The Run for the Roses? My Old Kentucky Home? Where are those folks that prayed over a blue grass field on a cold January day as a new foal tested its legs on the winter hard ground? A smile of understanding on their faces as legs new to this world found their strength and gave flight to the babe across grasses green. Where are those who live and breathe the scent of fresh pine shavings and horse sweat as the summer heat swelters in across the pastures? They struggle, they budget and they do without, yet they embrace the passion of something deeply encoded in their DNA and keep going even though the odds are long. All I’ve seen today is some sort of detached Red Carpet Gala. Who’s wearing who’s what and who’s with who. Where are those who mucked the stalls and mowed the fields, cutting back here and there in hopes that young colt they’d been raising could run for greatness? But Oh look Boink Boink has on Givenchy!

Well to be honest I’ll tell you where they are, or to be more correct where we are. We’ll be the tired lady who’s pulled a 60 hour week in a world we detest, but the one who does it with a smile because it allows us to be here. No not sipping champagne and hoping to be the next viral hashtag of the moment. But here, here in the seedy sale barns and desolate kill pens that are located all over this land. We won’t be dining on Lobster or winking at Billionaires. We will be cracking that ninety nine cent can of Vienna Sausages and watching the kill buyer. Yes, if we’ve got to wink, we might and yes, if we’ve got to do more, well, we may. But somewhere this side of a Lady on TV with more names than a Hanoverian Warmblood Stud who’s telling us the pedigree of her billion dollar bet. We will be the ones with our hearts caught in our throats as a beat up, half-starved relative of Hanoverian ladies billion dollar bet stumbles into the auction lot. We will hope and pray. Sometimes we’ll remember the payday loan place we passed a while back, add, subtract and calculate that we’ll have the money the pull the beaten soul from this hell. Somewhere in the back ground we’ll hear the semis rumble as they fire their engines and get ready for long, cold, waterless, hungry, journey to the north. We will smell the diesel, our blood will run cold. A journey that will carry the beat up, half-starved gray filly a relative of the fancy ladies bet, north to have a bolt shot through her head. Dead or not even quite, she’ll be chopped, minced and packed. Brilliant eyes will shine no longer, a gallant heart will beat no more and hooves will never again find their flight across the grassy green earth. But oh look, Edna Farquar Mills Helms Rosenburg Jones is wearing a daringly short skirt at age 78. Who’s it by?

The winds will blow, the kill buyers will shout and the scared filly will run up and down a 20 ft lot. Miles away surrounded in glory and grandeur a well attired man will smile to himself as he places his money on a colt. More money than the lady in sale barn has ever known. He does it simply because he likes the dam’s name. The same dam that gave life and nurture to the terrified filly now shuddering under the vicious crack of the sellers whip as she runs back and forth with nowhere to go. The well attired man sends a text to his well-heeled buddies to take the gamble on the colt upon which he’s laid his thousands. At the same moment the tired lady places a post on Facebook to her friends begging for money, if she just had enough she can save the gallant gray filly. The filly, it’s in her eyes, she has fire, and she deserves a chance. The whip cracks again and the scared filly runs.

A busy café in downtown Manhattan. The place to see and be seen. Two wealthy businessmen dine on filet mignon, sucking down gin and tonics. They both grasp their phones as the incoming texts vibrate the table. Their well attired boss at the Derby just gave them a line on a horse encouraging them to place a wager. The waitress at the bar, waiting on another round of gin & tonics, cringes at their stares and checks her phone. She sees the post, a wild eyed gray filly scared to death, in a kill pen in Montana, a lady she’s never met, but has followed her threads needs money. She’s trying to save the starved terrified filly. She loads the drinks on the tray and heads back to the businessmen. They are not so busy texting that they forget to ogle her. She smiles to herself, here you go girl, maybe I won’t ever run free, but by God in Heaven, you will. She smiles at them and leans in close as she serves their libations. She cannot stand their eyes upon her, nothing more than an item for their play, but she sees the filly spinning in the kill lot, hears the crack of the whip and decides her path. The men smile as their phones go off once again, the well attired man informs them of the windfall. The bet he made on the horse by simply the name of the dam had paid off. They smiled, polished off their drinks, asked for her number which she gave and left her a more than generous tip. In busy café in downtown Manhattan a waitress makes a call.

The lady at the sale barn cold and exhausted raises her hand, offering her last dollars in a final plea to save gray filly terrified for her life. It’s not enough, her world spins. Her phone vibrates, a girl in New York who she’s never met has the balance, and she’s sending it now. She places the bid, the filly turns sharp in the far corner of the pen and crumples to her knees as the whip licks her sweat tendered flesh. Time stands still as the words “Sold” echo across the pen. They did it, one tired lady, one fed up waitress and somewhere unbeknownst to him, a well attired man, saved a filly to run free another day. Oh but did you hear? Instagram sensation Lula broke a seventeen thousand dollar heel coming back from the paddocks and had a wardrobe malfunction.

So what have they done to our Derby? But more than that, what have they done to our horses and to us? In any case a well-dressed Billionaire has just decided to go into the horse business deciding to follow a certain mare’s bloodline. A waitress in Manhattan has just packed her car, picked up her last check and is rolling for Montana. One exhausted lady is kicked back in her pick up eating the last can of Vienna Sausages with a tired gray filly munching hay happily in her two horse trailer and damn they taste good. The woman with more names than a Hanoverian stud? She doesn’t give a crap, but hey neither do we.