TIME is a thief and chances are it's TIME for a change. I can help ... Just sayin!
I think the Maestro dropped the mic on this one! Just sayin!
Absolutely fabulous!
Love love love this piece
WOW I must say this has to be the best piece as of now.
J❤️ I must have🥰
Love this so much!
Love it!
Amazing !!
Love this!
New original out the shoot!!! Couple days late for Valentines, but hey ... WHO KNEW?
Awesome! I like the different colors.
Love this one!!
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Can you say chartcuterie? An assortment of cheeses paired with Colorado made smoked sausages of bison or elk, smoked salmon and when we can get em, gourmet cornmeal crusted pizzas! Limited…tight…delightful!
The dream train advances across the night sky, faithfully sending wayward dreamers back toward their stated intentions. The train’s conductor knows this journey well, for while many choose to dream, few choose to stay the course. When morning comes he’ll likely see his passengers go astray all over again. This, he knows. He’s seen it all before, as has the moon, whose momentary distraction will be just that. His thoughts are centered on a particular coyote, one he nicknamed “The Night Wanderer.” To the Moon, The Night Wanderer seems very different tonight. At last, he seems “Fulltented” – But I’m getting ahead of myself.
For many moons now The Night Wanderer has trekked through the Rockies. His only intended destination being wisdom, his only fear being coming up short of that destination. He chooses to wander alone and at night for the same reasons you and I might; namely, that the niggling naggings and platitudinous protestations so common in crowds and cities these days only made him more of a stranger to himself, making his destination ever more elusive. Even riding along on The Dream Train, with it’s optimistic vibe and hopeful chatter, proved to be too distracting for him. So, off went, a lone coyote on a lonely journey.
A mental hike is much like a physical one, in that having an efficient stride is essential. It was for this reason that he first began to ‘Pare Down’ his vocabulary by turning two, or even three, words into one. At first, the combinations were simple and obvious: Back and Forth became “Barth”; Climb and Descend became “Clescend”; Over and Over Again became simply “O’gain.” He both liked and disliked the effect this ‘Paring Down’ had, for while he enjoyed the open space he now had in his mind, he also noticed there was something missing. Something big.
He continued paring down words. Change and Opportunity became “Chapportunity”; Time, Effect, and Energy became “Tifforgy”; Peace, Calm, and Tranquility became “Pelmquility”; Kindness and Sincerity became “Kincerity”; Community and Home became “Comme”; and Contentment and Fullfillment became the word I used a variation of earlier, “Fulltentment.”
With these new tools, he pursued wisdom with increasing vigor. He spoke his thoughts aloud and with conviction as he hiked mile after mile through the darkness, his only audience the Moon, until one night when he finally reached his destination. He was leaving a town he’d spent a few of the best days of his life in, but as he ascended up, he stopped, looked back, and realized he was just too wise now to simply be on his way.
He knew he would never stop wandering completely, for after all, his travels had led him to himself, but neither would he ever truly leave that little town in the canyon, for it had filled the empty place inside him. At last, he’d arrived at his final destination: Wisdom. For those of us who’ve also traveled this trek and known this feeling, I’ll use the Night Wanderer’s words to say this:
May barth we go, clescending O’gain, to the comme we’ve found, wasting no chapportunity and expending whatever tifforgy required, to drink in the pelmquility and kincerity of the place that finds and fills what’s been missing inside us; a place The Night Wanderer predictably named, “TELLURADO.”
People assume that every daredevil considering whether or not to do something risky, has a shrill, maniacal voice inside their head screaming:
“DO IT!!! DO IT!!! DO IT!!!”
That’s simply untrue. What there is, there inside our minds, is a series of consciously cognitive considerations where all the reasons NOT to do it are carefully considered, and when, and if, the last of those considerations has been satisfactorily put to rest, there emerges a blessed silence.
And there,
in the midst of that
blessed silence,
we commit, and we go.
Two coyotes light as a feather in the crisp evening air. We have but one wish: that time might slow and allow this wonderful moment to linger. Nothing more, just let it linger.
“Saturday night, I was driving around (it’s my usual thing, as I was born to wander), when I turned off down a red dirt road and stumbled upon a party. There were lots of pretty people there, I must say, but no one like me. I decided to hang around anyway, and after a while, I realized I wasn’t alone, as no one there was like anyone else, either, from one to the next to the next to the next, the oddities and eccentricities flowed from them like water from a roof leak across the wide-plank floor boards of a restored maine farmhouse (but never mind that). There was no desire to make anyone think alike or believe alike or act alike, just a thick, syrupy gratitude for being given the chance to be among the knowingly alive, joy, sorrow, regret, optimism, love, heartbreak, silliness, seriousness, pain, pleasure – whatever – they were just glad they had been granted the miraculous opportunity to explore the contents of their minds and their hearts. Slowly but surely, the moon began to show his pleasant contenance above the fray, and as I took in that warm glow, I realized that for the first time in I-Can’t-remember-when, I felt at peace with myself and my world. These were my people, I decided, and I just knew right that very minute, that no matter how long the gaps in time might be between my evenings spent with them, I would never wander alone again. They would always be riding shotgun, if only in my heart. The party wound down, I kissed my goodbyes, and after a couple backward glances, I got in my car and drove off; my heart like an alligator.
Life, my friends, is best when everything fits together because nothing is forced to.”
“We were contentedly spending the evening riding along on the Gypsy Vagabonder, drinking a well – bruised but capable red in the restrained elegance of the dining car, when we spotted a sign for a town whose name we couldn’t even pronounce. Naturally, we disembarked. We had no idea where to go, but we soon found a hippie – gypsy cabbie who seemed perfect for our fare, as he said driving curbed his heartbreak and thus he’d happily go nowhere in particular. He agreed to let us stow our luggage inside the cab and ride along up on the luggage rack (our one demand). So off we went, destination unknown. As the sun went down, a cooling breeze set in. Soon, a tapestry of stars and a coating of Prussian blue began to weave their way into the fabric of the sky, and a big yellow moon found shelter in the welcoming confines of a village we were passing. I looked over, then I looked up, then I looked out, and then I looked at you; and I realized I would follow you anywhere. You are the walls that form my sanctuary, the light that softly sets upon my horizon, and the lusty mystery that fills my dusky nights. You are the reason I go and the first thing I want to see when I get there,
and I would follow you, my love to the DARK SIDE OF THE MOON.”
“Woe is me, for I’m tragically out-of-step with the comfort-seeking, caution-worshipping times I live in. I fear I’m a YESTER-YORE THROWBACK to a time when wild weekly wreakings and menacing monthly manipulations forced the common to become sturdy, the sturdy to become the impressive, and the impressive to become the exceptional. Left with no other choice, they constructed the hearts and minds of lions within their unsuspecting frames. I LONG TO LIVE AS THEY DID, to live as the lion does and possess such courage that I perceive fear as being nothing more than a tool I sometimes find useful.
I do not, and never will, find merit in the word “SOMEWHAT”. I will never embrace the numbing calm that comes with being ‘SOMEWHAT’ satisfied or ‘SOMEWHAT’ grateful or ‘SOMEWHAT’ in love. Whatever it is, I will be in it all the way to the hilt of the knife, or I won’t be in it at all. I will just be on my way, A SEEKER TRUE OF HEART.
Time is a thief who steals from us all, the only question being the worth of the plunder. May I see each day for what it is, a vast bounty left unguarded, and may I live them the poets’ way: face-first and desperate, frustrated and restless, mesmerized and regretless. And when I die, may I go falling away, thunderstruck and blinded by love; someone who, at long last, finally feels AT PEACE and in-step with the moment they find themselves in.”
“Watch the moon rise in her eyes aboard the Gypsy Vagabonder
Mother Earth is calling you. She wants to seduce you. She wants to lift her veil and shed her concealments, to show you all her hidden treasures and confess all her best-kept secrets. She wants to take you as her lover, so surrender to her will and just go.”
“In this world full of jaded, pessimistic, souls spouting reasons why you can’t, why you shouldn’t, why you musn’t, why you won’t; I am easily defined. I am one great big, tailor-made, purpose built, expert approved, custom-designed, finely-tuned, cutting-edge, high-performance, state-of-the-art, DEAF EAR.“
“When I was young, even a tiny sip of whiskey was too rough – edged for my tender tastes, and Bob Dylan’s music seemed to be much the same. Over time, though, as my wandering ways took root, an edge formed inside ME, an edge I was glad to have whenever my heartbreak grew so big I became “Tangled up in Blue”. And now, even in my darkest depths, you’ll see a faint smile on my face, for I know a certain Dylan song and a sip or three of HEAVEN’S DOOR, can always take the hard – earned, well-deserved, bought-and-paid-for, EDGE, off of me.”
“Another day in the life, my sweet, and it seems fate has offered us our usual dose of unexpected challenges. Our path never quite seems easy, but when I gaze upon your lovely smile, think about the grace that is your way, and hear the wisdoms you speak into my eager ears; I know I’ll be fine.
HERE’S TO US, MY LOVE – LONG MAY WE RUN”
“A VERY WISE PERSON ONCE TOLD ME THAT THE BEST WAY TO LIVE A LIFE IS TO PERCEIVE IT AS BEING CAPABLE OF SETTING AN EXAMPLE OF SOMETHING PROFOUND.
I HAVE DONE MY BEST TO DO EXACTLY THIS. BY EMBRACING WANDERLUST WITH RUNAWAY ABANDON, I HAVE TRIED TO SET AN EXAMPLE THAT, IF YOU WANDER FAR ENOUGH FOR LONG ENOUGH, YOU WILL COME TO A POINT WHERE YOU FIND IT IMPOSSIBLE TO FEEL OUT-OF PLACE OR LONELY.
“I ALSO WANTED TO SET AN EXAMPLE THAT, BY OCCASIONALLY RETURNING TO PLACES WHERE YOU ONCE FELT LOST OR MISERABLE, YOU LET THE “OLD YOU” GET A GOOD LOOK AT THE “NEW YOU”, AND IN THE PROCESS, YOU SLOWLY RUN OUT OF PEOPLE YOU STILL NEED TO FORGIVE AND THINGS YOU STILL REGRET.
FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, DEAR FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR, FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH.
P.S. ALWAYS REMEMBER
ROGER O. HEGBARTH.”
“INTO MY BLUE WORLD SHE WHIRLS, MY THOUGHTS OF BURSTING BUBBLES, BINDING RULES AND BROKEN HEARTS TURNING TO ONES OF POPPING CORKS, BROKEN RULES AND BURSTING BUTTONS.
…. BUT ARE YOU REAL, OR AM I JUST
ABSINTHE MINDED?”
“I WRITE THESE WORDS IN REGARD TO ALL THOSE TIRELESS, DEDICATED, CITY-DWELLING OFFICE TYPES FROM GENERATIONS PAST, THOSE WHO SET OFF TO WORK WITH THE MOON STILL HIGH AND REMAINED THERE UNTIL THE MOON’S RETURN. I WOULD IMAGINE THAT MOST OF THEM LIVED FINE, CONTENTED LIVES, BUT I WOULD ALSO IMAGINE THAT SOME DID NOT; THAT SOME OF THEM YEARNED TO SING BUT CHOSE TO TALK; YEARNED TO DANCE BUT CHOSE TO WALK, YEARNED TO BE WILD BUT CHOOSE TO BALK. THEY ALL FACED A DECISION, AND THEY DECIDED TO USE THEIR LIVES TO CREATE THE THREAD USED TO WEAVE TOGETHER THE FABRIC OF POLITE SOCIETY, A SOCIETY THAT SOMEONE LIKE ME RELIES ON EVERY DAY, NOT BECAUSE I HAVE CHOSEN TO USE MY LIFE TO ADD TO THE SIZE OR STRENGTH OF IT, BUT BECAUSE I’VE CHOSEN TO USE IT TO TEST THAT FABRIC’S STRENGTH AND TO FRAY IT AT ITS EDGES.
WITHOUT THE COUNTLESS EXAMPLES THEY SET FOR ME, I MIGHT NOT HAVE KNOWN WHY – AND HOW – TO REJECT THE COMMON JOURNEY THEY TRAVELLED. I WOULDN’T HAVE UNDERSTOOD THE IMPORTANCE OF VENTURING OUT INTO THE WILD AND LEARNING THE MAJESTY OF THE MOUNTAIN, THE SOLACE OF THE MEADOW, OR THE LUSTY WHISPER OF THE LONELY HIGHWAY. I WOULDN’T HAVE GRASPED THE SEDUCTIVE POWER OF ORIGINAL THOUGHT, THE MERIT OF ECCENTRICITY, THE BENEFIT OF SOLITUDE, THE PERIL OF CONFORMITY, THE GLORY OF ROMANTICISM, THE COST OF OBLIGATION, OR THE LOFTY, HIGHLY-REFINED LUXURY OF FORMING MY LIFE’S WORK AROUND THE QUESTION “FOR WHAT PURPOSE?” RATHER THAN, “FOR HOW MUCH?”
IT IS MY HUMBLE HOPE THAT ANYONE AND EVERYONE WHO TAKES A LOOK AT MY LIFE WILL KNOW HOW KEENLY AWARE I AM OF THEIR COLLECTIVE SACRIFICE. I ALSO WANT THEM TO KNOW THAT I INTEND TO HONOR THAT SACRIFICE BY CHASING AFTER ALL THE MYSTICAL MYSTERIES THEY CHOSE TO TURN AWAY FROM, THE ONES A HEAVENLY MUSE HAS SEDUCED ME WITH, THE ONES THAT ONLY COME TO LIGHT UNDER THE GLOW OF A PECULIAR MOON. IN OTHER WORDS, I WILL USE MY LIFE TO SET AN EXAMPLE OF HOW TO LIVE, BY LIVING IT IN PRECISELY THE OPPOSITE WAY ALL OF THEM DID; BUT I WILL DO SO WITH A LOVING HEART AND WHILE DRINKING DEEPLY FROM A CUP FILLED WITH WARM, DELICIOUS, HEARTFELT, GRATITUDE.”
“nate longstepper will one day pass on to that great encore in the sky, but when he does it will be somewhat redundant, as he is already part of eternity. It all started some years back when nate, a long-suffering musician with big dreams, was playing lead guitar with a band called “the tirekickers.” He was right in the middle of a capably done but unremarkable improv solo on the tirekickers’ only hit, “she won’t cook my bacon,” when he spotted her in the crowd: the legendary “Roxanne the rio rough-houser.” As everyone knew, she was trouble. She was fresh from the fight, down for the struggle, right on the money and flush with cash after recently divorcing her third billionaire, baron gott bupkus. She winked at nate and the next thing you know it was Tuesday and neither had slept since Saturday night. Nate fell hard. By Wednesday he could already smell the fresh paint on the white-picket-fence protecting the well-manicured lawn that lovingly surrounded the small but gracious post-war bungalow that they would grow old in together. Strangely, the same was true for Roxanne. At long last – true love. They made plans to make plans after his gig that coming Friday. The tirekickers spent their rehearsals beforehand warning him about her. They all made bets with him that when she came to their gig on Friday night she would show up late – and she wouldn’t be alone. Roxanne knew nothing about all this, of course, so when her Bugatti got a flat tire en-route to the show she didn’t give a second thought about inviting the nice, kind mechanic to be her guest at the tirekickers’ show. Well, the tirekickers came out for their third set. Nate looked out at the crowd and saw she had finally arrived …. And she wasn’t alone. Reflexively, he picked up his guitar and out it came – a note so blue, so heartbreaking, so pure in its beautiful truth that everyone left. They simply couldn’t take it. Roxanne had every intention of explaining herself the next day – until she walked down her street. Everyone was talking of the history that had been made the night before. They said nate’s performance was transcendent, almost as if god himself had summarized the perils of love and had used nate to express it in one perfect “BLUE NOTE”. overnight, nate had become what he’d always dreamed of being. Roxanne had a decision to make, and she decided to do something she’d never done before: she put someone else above herself and her desires. For years after that she never missed one of nate’s shows, and she always hired a date to accompany her. Nate became a giant, a musical legend. Eventually nate commissioned national guitar company to make him “LEFTY,” a one-string, left-handed guitar. For him it symbolized life post-roxanne – A world turned upside-down. For all his success, he was miserable. He even had ‘LEFTY’ fitted with a custom picture-holder so a photo of Roxanne could watch his tears fall. Every weekend it would happen again: nate and lefty would take the stage in front of a packed-house, he’d see Roxanne with a date, and out it would come: one long, mind-bendingly sad note. and every night the show would end with only one person left, the only person able to withstand the sadness: Roxanne. When he finished, he’d look straight at her, take one tiny nibble of a delicious pear – and leave. It took a long, long time for nate to realize what was really going on …. But he did. And on the night he finally figured it all out, he came on stage, took lefty in hand and played just one song, an upbeat little ditty he had just written backstage called, “I’m ‘bout to get some bacon cooked.” Afterward he walked out into the crowd and took Roxanne by the hand. They left together, smiling, and headed off in the direction of the all-night hardware store. They were hoping to buy some fence paint. The end.”
“REINE DE JOIE
C’est la Reine de la Joie et Je ne suis qu’un chevalier dans son royaume Jubilaoire
QUEEN OF JOY
She is the Queen of Joy and I am only a Knight in Her Jubilant Kingdom
Representing the local distillery, brewery and winery, I say, I say you must belly up for our Famous “Smoke Em if You Got Em”, an Oakwood Smoked Old Fashioned. Twill set you free. Though limited by size, certainly enough options of beer, wine and martinis to please juuuust about everybody. Also…lots of buzz on the street about Telluride’s best “Flatliner” as well. Mmmmm Hmmmm!
The Coyote Series, inspired by the Joni Mitchell song Coyote, was created by Michigan native Markus Pierson in 1986. Markus is much more than just the creator; after 36 years he has become the muse and inspiration for thousands of dreamers, adventurers and romancers. And not necessarily in that order.
After a near-fatal bout with Crohn’s Disease, Markus dove in hard, painting billboards by day for a living and working into the night on his “Coyotes.” To the wall above his desk he taped these words, “No one works this hard and this smart – and has it come to nothing.” Within a year, he walked out of Artexpo in NYC with commitments from 110 art galleries across the country.
Today you could find Markus spending time with his wife Sher and their 4 dogs at the “Optimism Farm” in Maine. Painting, writing or a brisk workout on his motocross track, his days are happy and his “Cup of Gratitude” full.
Owner, operator, bartender, cook and chief bottle washer, Mitch, the Viceroy of all the worlds dreamers, had been dreaming of setting up shop in this gorgeous ol’ mining town for several years. Those dreams and the bountiful journey to get here became reality in the fall of 2020. Chances are you’ll catch him in shorts, a ballcap and his Harley parked out front but don’t let that fool you. As a four-decade restaurateur by trade, he has just enough experience to be dangerous and pull this off … or pull the wool over your eyes. He also owns the Blue Coyote Supper Club in Ft. Myers, Fl. going on 21 years.
What happens when you toss 3 parts designer, one part shady bartender and a smidgeon of bathroom attendant in a gunny sack? Well that would be Alex … aka “Alvin.” When he’s not humping at his Graphic Design and Web firm in Minneapolis or shoeing some old horse on his farm in southern Minnesota, ya might find him torching a “Smokey” at the bar, tightening up the next piece of “Swag” or cursing the aptly named POS system at the studio. He doesn’t grace us with his presence nearly enough, but when he does you have two choices … either run for the hills or tighten up your laces for the wild ride. Let it go Baby!
Chris and Sarah, hailing from complete opposite corners of the Universe, vastly different brain washings and a tad bit o’ contrast in lifetime throwdowns, offer up watered-down libations, a few white lies and plenty of verbal abuse. Naaah, just jivin! A pair of the towns best… twisting up country club pours, sneaky inside Telluride knowledge and smiles from ear to ear. Are ya here yet?
