It was one of the last days of March. Snow straggled along the ground, melting ice patches covered the trail. The sun was weak, high above the cold wind. And there we were, heading home from a ride. There was her, up front on her horse, then me and him, following slightly behind. My fingers were hidden under his mane, having stupidly forgotten gloves.
We picked up a trot, then she began to canter. Then faster. We raced against the wind. He picked up his pace, the wind forcing his ears against his head, his hooves hit the ground, an entrancing rhythm on its own. My breath was in short gasps, the air eluding me. My muscles had a slight burn, keeping me in the saddle, when all the harsh wind wanted to do was yank me out. My fingers curled tightly around the leather reins, hands still tangled in the whipping mane.
The wind stung my ears, tears pricking at them. I could feel his muscles, under me, working, moving, pushing, faster. We were moving together, our breath came at the same time, our hearts beat as one and suddenly . . . we grew wings.
©Double I 4 My Guyz