A Horse is a Horse of Course of Course

Back in those halcyon days of youth before you realize the price of bread or that you have to pay monthly for a place to live, I had a horse. He was gelding the same color as the red in my hair. His name was Copper and he smelled of dust, hay, and horse. We couldn’t afford to feed ourselves so the horse was bad timing but to me he was magical.

As my childhood fell apart I frequently went out to the barn and sat on the rough edged wood with my arms around his horsey neck as far as they would go. He would nicker into my ear and nibble me with his soft nose. He knew my problems and loved me with no judgment.

I’ll never forget riding horseback through wild fields. Walking alongside him, barefoot through the woods. He is embedded within my heart and I still occasionally dream of him.

It was a long time ago that Copper was an old horse. I am sure he is running through a pasture in heaven now. Yet I wish I could reach out with a crab apple and let him know I never forgot. I hope I have one in my pocket when I am sent to pasture too.


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