Jack of Harts

Something I found growing up in Northern Minnesota is how beautiful it can be. There is nothing like a January or February snowfall, in the wee hours of the morning beneath a shining moon. The night air so clear you can see for miles to the crisp horizon, and the only sound is your boots crunching in the snow. The only breath of wind comes billowing from your own lungs, and your eyes ache as the cold sets in. Add a pretty girl or two huddling up for warmth, and you’re looking at the best place in all the worlds to grow up. It was heaven. It still is, and a part of me will always be there, enjoying that beautiful silence. – Captain Jack Hart, Cowboy.