The fresh, sweet smell of morning lingers in the air. The wet grass shines in the sunlight as girl and horse trod along the beaten path. The horse’s fudge-colored fur shines bronze in the warm sunlight. The girl, smiling but cautious, takes in the sensational soaring feeling of the ride. They move as one. The girl reads the pace of the horse, listening and feeling the horse’s beating hooves on the ground, sound like the rhythm of beating drums. Together they are like a poem, flowing. The dust trail that they leave behind is like a stratus cloud, thin and white. Shadows of the wooden fence stretch across the path, restraining slightly the freedom of the ride, containing them in an orbital around the center, like a gravitational pull. But it does not matter. Girl and horse soak up the morning sun, trotting in rhythm. Time seems endless.
December 6, 2007