In fifth grade my friend had a birthday party at her family’s country house, where the stables were climate-controlled and the horses had elaborate braids in their manes. That place bears no resemblance to the massive stable behind the house, its doors wide open to welcome the sun, the packed ground somehow more comfortable than a glossy synthetic flooring. Horses stand in clean bays, watching me with lazy curiosity from their sideways eyes.
Another set of wide-open doors leads me back outside.
Paddocks link across the land as far as the eye can see, connected by high rustic wood gates and bristling with a kind of raw potential. This is a place where nature still holds her power, where man tests himself against her and sometimes loses.
A glint of light off metal. My gaze snaps to a larg
