Wild One

An autumn wind roaring threw the hills.

Partly cloudy.

My daughter, fearless.

As ever.

On a Sunday, a friend invited us to the barn where she boards her horses, so we packed up our little family and drove 15 minutes outside of town.

LBD loved the horses. We knew she would.

She wanted to touch them, to run with them.

Just to be near them.

As near as we would allow.

It reminded me of loving horses as a girl.  Hanging on to every word Marguerite Henry wrote. Begging for riding lessons. The sheer draw of their majesty.

Since she seemed interested and willing, we put her on a pony.

She seemed to like it alright.

But it was no horse.

After a little while, the friend we were visiting lifted LBD onto Jack, a gorgeous chestnut stallion and one of the largest horses on the property. My immediate reaction was, "Don't fall off, don't fall off, don't fall off..." That maternal impulse only lasted a second, because once left alone in the saddle, LBD grabbed the horn with one hand and reached over and took reins with the other. Never having been exposed to a real horse in her entire 15-month life, it was as if she knew exactly what to do. Calm. Face forward, toward the hills. Naturally, patting Jack's neck every so often.

A brief moment that aged her beyond recognition.

She is my wild one.