I love winter. I love the stillness of it, the way all of life slows down and pays attention, the way it forces me to come face-to-face with mortality and
Cowboys say a fast horse “eats up the ground” a colloquialism which has always made me think of a dragon’s mouth right behind my horse’s hooves, its hot breath on
The sky is a dirty tan, the color of chocolate milk made by a zealously health-conscious aunt. Headlights make woeful smears in the palpable air like the lamplighters of a
I’ve been working on stamina with my horse, Buzz. Like most Quarter Horses, he’s built for explosive speed over short distances, followed by a distilled, lengthy sense of easy-going-ness. He
The wind is howling today. The rattle and wheeze of it against our creaky house woke our little guy early this morning, and when Adam got ready for work in
I was in a flash nonfiction contest recently, and we had to incorporate the sentence: “It wasn’t a crisis yet” into our essay. What a loaded premonition. It’s gotten me