Most artists draw you a picture with pen and ink or paint you a picture with brushes. Mike does the same thing, only with words. When you read poems like, "Something About Mornin'," you will see what I mean. The poem "Swallerin' Pride" shore reminds me of my first encounter with Brown Mule Chewing Tobacco. For anyone who has ever been in the high country, read "Summer Rain," and you'll be there once again. Mike does a "Hell Of A Job," puttin' his thoughts to rhyme.

Read and enjoy; I did.

– Jesse Smith, Cowboy and Poet

I'll tell you that Mike's impressive collection The Gathering comes right at you in real time. And most importantly, he delivers it with soul! It documents what has been the very core of his and his family's existence down through the years in his stomping grounds, the great West. When it comes to the mountains and high backcountry, Mike's got a trusty, unfailing eye for nature's beauty. He'll transport you to that warm side of the hill, you'll hear creek waters stumbling over rocks, you'll meet horses he's rode and wranglers he's known. And then just when you need a lift, he'll pick you up gently and deliver you back down that long gravel road.

– Skip Gorman, Song Writer and Singer

It all started with my dad taking me up in the hills ridin' horses. We rode to some of the prettiest country that you could ever imagine. Spent nights on the ground and in cabins so tucked away that no one could ever find ya. I think of how young I was then, ridin' up trails that if ya met someone, forward and back is all that ya had, because up or down just wasn't an option. My dad passed when I was eighteen years old. I think back at how short of time I really had with him and just how much he was able to show and teach me. That's him on the horse on the cover, and I guess a lot of what's in this book is me lettin' him know what kind of a son he raised.

—Michael Whitaker

www.windyword.com

Morning Bells

The creek stumbles cross the rocks
Morning light is still a far
The young cowboy saddles a blazed face horse
Beneath the morning stars

A wrangler's job he honors
Across the creek and then
He rides out through the darkness
To bring them ponies in

He caps the ridge and breaks on down
A coulee just below
He pulls the blaze up to a stop
Beneath the moon a glow

He listens oh so carefully
The sounds so far and faint
The dark horses hide within the night
He spots a shining paint

Then morning bells fill the air
The horses just ahead
He guides them towards the wagons
The cowboys rise from bed

The bells around the horse's necks
They play a wranglers tune
The morning sun fills up the day
He no longer sees the moon

Horses come a runnin'
Slide as they make camp
The morning bells a ringin'
The horses do their dance

Morning bells do fill the air
When a cowboy starts his day
The young wrangler has done his job
He now has earned his stay

A wrangler is the youngest
His jobs don't match the rest
He lives a life out on the range
And some day he'll be the best

But he has something that the cowboys don't
A story he can tell
Life don't get much better
When it starts with morning bells

The horses in the darkness
The sound of hooves ahead
The morning bells do waken
The cowboys from their beds

The run across the meadows
The bells swing side to side
The wrangler's on a blaze faced horse
Trailin' right behind

They say the bells stay with you
And sometimes within the night
You can hear the bells a ringin'
Right before day light

Too many years before my time
Just a story that I tell
Of a wrangler on a blazed face horse
And the sound of morning bells

May 8th, 2004