In the dry land stands the monument of a dreamer.
It is a testament to hope, to years of yearning,
Standing tall above the grasses, rocks, and scrub oak
Below a cloudless sky and sun so brightly burning.
No babbling brooks cross here, just silent sand arroyos.
Few linger here at all; fewer still would stake a claim.
Only fools and dreamers could love this barren land.
It does not suffer fools; dreamers love it just the same.
‘Twas the Homestead Act that brought him here to dream and sweat.
It was the solitude and grass that made it feel right
But there were months when precious rains were non-existent.
Each cloudless day brought another worried, weary night.
All that changed when the Aermotor windmill was delivered.
The well was dug, the tower raised; each rod and gear in place.
The wind blew as always, but now it turned a shiny fan
And both the cowman’s heart and dreams begin to race.
The cowman would talk about that day for years to come,
How the blades spun, the rods creaked, how he paced and paced
And then water, precious water, poured from pipe to trough,
Giving hope, a thing a man could actually taste,
Within weeks, trails appeared around the water trough
As thirsty critters, one by one, found the water there, of course.
Not just cows, but the antelope, fox, and deer drank there.
The tower, a beacon, led them to their water source.
The story of the dreamer is old, but not forgotten.
The tower still stands, although its working years are spent—
A testament to one man’s hope and all those years of yearning.
For a dreamer and cowman, a most fitting monument.


© by Mike Moutoux.
Used here with the author’s permission.