Cowgirl

cowgirl

So I was born and raised in the wild west of Arizona, more like urban cowgirl because I hate the smell of manure and I am deathly afraid of horses (ever since Tumbleweed, Leigh’s ill tempered and potbellied pony of a horse bit my arm at 9…shaking fist…seriously it left a bruise a the size of an orange!). I swore upon leaving at 18 that I would never move back, swore . I had been drug up and down Indian reservations and to the Herd Museum so many times I can’t count. I can identify Zuni deities and Hopi hairstyles for Pete’s sake! And now I’m back, I did what I swore I’d never do and I love native american art, Sonoran mexican food and I want to curl up under a freakn’ Navajo rug and watch the sunset.

I blame this picture from my preschool. Two year old Cara in a studio atop a pony, fringed chaps and vest. I especially like the pink bandanna, nice touch. Imprinted with the southwest, I return to my urban roots to ogle purple mountains majesty on the horizon and really wide avenues. This is home.

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