The Cowhide Hat

Gnarled hands wrap tightly round the coffee cup
Willing heat to penetrate .
As furry bodies lay cured together.

They are calm but they do not sleep.

Eyes alive,

Alert,

Waiting.

While

Outside winter is wandering.
Scattering rain and sleet, as she twists and turns.

They do not care about her passing,
And they are not phased by her icy touch.
Patently they wait.

With a sigh I rise, put on my boots and collect my jacket.
Still they do not stir,
But they watch my every move.

I watch the sleet sliding down the window
and I shiver.
It's a bleak day and not the weather for wool.

As my hand touches the old battered cowboy hat,
Hell breaks loose
Exited yelps and bouncing beasts.

They like this hat I think.