Walking past the mare, I let my hand follow the shape of her body, her hair so short it has no texture in the height of summer. My fingers slip under her mane first, and remembering the full moon on night she was born, watching with the rest of the herd as her dam gave … Read more
The woman doesn’t make a good first impression. Her hair is dry as straw under a ball cap from Tractor Supply. Wearing a stiff barn coat and men’s muck boots that make a hollow flap as she walks with a limping rhythm, the full bucket bumping her knee each stride. Her hand is thick, nails … Read more
The young visitor stared at the bay mare’s mane. “Would you like to brush her?” I ask. Sending the girl for the grooming bag, I haltered the mare, a visitor to the farm herself. After showing the girl about curry combs and brushing with the grain of the hair, she set to the task … Read more
Caramel and blond…
Better for knowing her.
…she sees it all