The winter coat curled and was sticky. He leaned into the comfort of my hand on his cheek. He got his point across, he was a stable gelding, who'd never be rinsed after a day of working the salt shores. It doesn't feel too good to feel so sorry for the spirit. So we just stood there a moment, before the wranglers insisted I mount. Okay, what's his name? Midnight, it's a fucking brown horse, uh no Coco, yeah okay. come on midnight.
rode a horse to the beach today.
I've wanted to do that forever, and the salty, hard mouthed beast was sweet loping along the shore.
I didn't throw my hands out and he didn't fly.
rather
my left hand for reigns, heals pointed down, nudge outside foot to turn, raise slightly for forward, lean back faster, was it that he knew my seventh grade 4-H like-self-taught eqine language or was it that he just wasn't the nag with the spritz head girlfriend munching on the trail ten lengths behind. He made horsey tracks.