My dreams are of such, as the west Texas wind, ever changing, from the breeze, to the tornado,Then back again, in less time than it takes to change my mind. Women change faster, but they can tell the story why. I change with the wind for better or worse, I have no clue why. PMS, Mad Cow, could never compare. A west Texas man is at the mercy, of the wind in his hair. It comes from every direction there is on the map. I search where it came from, I search where it went, Like my brother the tumble weed, I follow its course till its furry is spent. I may set a while, now and again, but my sole is one with the west Texas wind.
