She wasn’t made for the city lights. The wind hums through the hills, and the earth feels steady beneath her boots. A floral dress catching the breeze, a white hat tipped just right, and a Myra bag slung over her arm. Stitched with stories of the road, worn with the spirit of a wanderer. The kind of bag that’s seen sunrises from a porch swing, dust from a rodeo, and the open stretches. The kind that holds more than what she carries. It holds where she’s been and where she’s headed next. Because a cowgirl’s journey is never just about the destination. #MyraBag