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 First Snow by Diana Beach |
The Majesty of the Horse
to hear the thunder of a herd's stampede,to inhale the peace of dawn in the pasture,
to watch the soaring flight of a jumper,
to caress the soft coat of the newborn foal,
to ride the quick whirl of the cutting horse,
to witness the patience of a child's best friend,
to savor the regal strut of the dressage champion,
to behold the gentle trust in an old mare's eye,
to be one with the glory of racing the wind,
that is the majesty of the horse.
Fiction
 We Three Kings by Susan Crawford |
The soft rustle of straw and the harsh clang of feed buckets combined in the still morning air, announcing the dawn of another show day. Few were found wandering the corridors of the deserted fairgrounds, but here and there, a rake scraped a stall floor clean or a groom rubbed oil into sweat caked leather. Horses rustled in the straw bedding, anxiously tossing their heads in anticipation of breakfast.
 Lizzie's Boy by John Fawcett |
Mangy. That's how I felt and how he looked, sitting there beside the road with the hot Mojave sun beating down. He'd been there since morning. I passed him while delivering two yearlings to a Thorobred farm in Lone Pine. He hadn't budged an inch since. One of the truck's features wasn't air conditioning -- who could afford it? -- so the windows were down. I rolled to a stop and yelled for him to get in. Agile, he leaped into the back without a sound.
Nonfiction
 Outfitters Hideaway by Jack Terry |
Cows lowing at sunset, horses gathering in the meadow, the smell of chili wafting on the clear prairie air -- and you with saddle sores that need soothing in the ice cold stream as the wranglers chuckle at the tenderfoot who thought she could meet their daily challenge.
 Mr. Ed and Alan Young |
In the 50s and 60s, the San Fernando Valley was mostly farms, ranches and bare acreage. Low desert, the untamed land was covered with sagebrush, tumbleweeds and a bit of cactus. Winter rains encouraged the growth of large fields full of wild barley and golden poppies. Summer brought the hot, dry Santa Ana devil winds. The tall grass, its seed heads chattering in the strong gusts, turned golden brown. The valley was the home of many western movies, movie stars and Mr. Ed--who lived right across the dirt street from me.
 The General Store at Melody Ranch. |
