He was lanky, long-legged, a conglomeration of geometric planes and angles held together by knobby joints and a hide the color of an October sunset. A white blaze snaked from his curly shock of red forelock and leaned to the right as it went from white to mottled pink and gray between flared nostrils. He squealed.

The chestnut mare snorted and nickered. She worried and fussed, licked him with her pink tongue and pushed her big shoulder against him when he wobbled. She offered her flank, but there was too much in the world to see to pause for a meal.

He was destined for great things. He didn’t look like much, weaving there in summer grass, tail stuck out, knees bent. But even then I knew. I saw him dancing in front of the judges, all harnessed grace and power, I felt the wind when he extended his trot, felt the bunch when he pranced in place, felt the connection and pride and liberation of a job well done.

I saw every possibility the day I met Cash. And I fell in love.



Thank you to Linda for a great prompt. Head over to SoCS to be inspired and for the participation rules!

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