Where the wind blows and the grass grows, the horses run free. It's Montana in the spring, it's Texas where it's green, it's the old saloons and the ghost towns of years past. It's a rusting sheriff star, beloved leather boots, billowy blouses, hammered belts, patterned cloth. It's eyeleted cotton, soft leather, worn jeans, everything in between. It's mexican, it's native american, it's cowboys and robbers. It's a vintage sort of feel in gun-slingin' country.
(images courtesy of TFS, style.com, weheartit, gilt, anthropologie, stevemadden, frye)
Love always,
Belle
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