Five feet above the rusty ground, swaying with each step of the horse like the rolling tides of the ocean that seems so very far away in this hot desert land. My feet light in the stirrups, my heels down, my hips grounded. My hands are low and close to the saddle horn, the bit and shanks gentle in his mouth.
The wind arrives, as it always does, announcing the coming dusk. Pulling back the curtains if you will. And it is a production - this sunset with its song and dance, its coat of many colors - no less than any hit Broadway show.
The horse whinnies, tosses his head and snorts. We make our way west along an abandoned ranch road and back toward the shiplap and sheet metal we call home. The dogs follow behind, bouncing and jostling as they go. Legs hustling. I reach up and brush the hair from my face.
I live my life around the animals, he said.
It was months ago when I heard those words across the sacaton grasslands and mesquite bosques of Las Cienegas.
They’ve been rolling around in my head ever since.
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