Seasons Under the Sun

Art lay on his back in his bunk with his left arm curled above his head. It was Monday….sunrise. A pinpoint of light and far less air stirred through the open windows of the bunkhouse. He shared the small living space with three other cowboys, horse wranglers like himself. Each had a bed, a chair, a chest for clothes and a mid-sized trunk for personal property. Art called these living quarters on the Laureles division of the King Ranch home.
His thoughts bounced about never settling too long on any single thought. This weekend was the cutting horse competition in Kingsville. Most cutting horse wranglers living on the King Ranch would compete. The four-year-old stallion he’d trained the past two years was ready to compete. Art was proud of the horse and how quickly he’d learned. When just a colt, Art named him Fuego which in English means fire. The young quarter horse, a strawberry roan, had a red coat intermingled with white hair—giving it an almost sun-bleached look. Fuego’s mane, tail and head, as well as his legs from the knees down, were solid reddish-brown. His brown eyes large and curious; his body muscular; his nature feisty. Art had planned a couple more training sessions this week. Not too many to tire Fuego but enough to build confidence in them both.
And of course, he mostly thought of Rosa. She had agreed to marry him last November, but he had not been able to afford the ring they saw in the jewelry store window in Kingsville. For now, he would work hard and save his money. She didn’t mind waiting. Was what was in her heart not on her finger she had said and chose a simple gold chain with a heart-shaped locket to demonstrate his love for her. No ring and as of yet no wedding date set either.
Art was uncertain if Rosa’s father, the foreman of this horse training section of the ranch, had truly given his blessing for their marriage. Mr. De León had not said so in so many words. Had complimented and highly praised Art’s work with the horses and accomplishments on the ranch but either changed the subject or said little about giving his daughter in marriage. Art always felt comfortable around Rosa’s parents and her four brothers and their families. He enjoyed being a part of the family events and especially partaking meals with them. The De Leóns were a large family like his own.
Rosa, beautiful Rosa—his dark haired, amber-eyed beauty. She was the center of his every thought; his purpose in life centered around her. One day soon—or he hoped would be soon—she would become his wife; his life companion. Hers was a love he thought never possible after losing Emily to his brother John. Although Emily had been his high school sweetheart and his first love, Rosa had healed his heart and shown him what true love meant. Hers was not a fleeting nor fickle flimsy. Of that he was certain.
Until the day they exchanged wedding vows, he was planning where he and Rosa would live and how he could care for her in the way she deserved. He was grateful Rosa had not pressured him. She, too, was patiently, but eagerly, waiting for their marriage day.
When he heard Rojo, the old red rooster, crowing and demanding the sun to rise, Art swung his legs off the bed. He grabbed his jeans hanging on the back of the chair and stood to put them on. He sat on the chair and pulled on his boots. He hurriedly buttoned on his blue denim shirt, tucked the tail into his jeans and buckled on his belt. He grabbed his hat hanging on a peg by the door and walked out onto the porch.
It was still dark with just a hint of light forming on the eastern horizon. Rojo, perched on the porch railing, cocked his head around and pierced his beady eyes in Art’s direction. Completely annoyed by the interruption of signaling the day, the rooster spread his red wings and flopped to the ground. Rojo strutted away unaware his constant crowing was only a disturbance and had no control over the sun.