Monday, June 1, 2015


It all started when I learned to move my fingers because then I could begin my addiction to lacing them in horse mane. I got hooked on my addictions young, they must've always been pulsing beneath my skin. Like the water we drink and all of our body's yearnings. I fell in love with the feel of dewy grass between my fingers in the morning. I crave horse hair and horse sweat, their hearts beating beneath me. Aspens whispering from the mountain side telling me their sorrows and triumphs. I was plagued with that fall in love young, hard and fast tendency and it eats at me whenever my eyes are open. And sometimes in my dreams. I've been looking at plane tickets and figuring out how can I possibly pack my clothes in this amount of space...dear heavens I can't forget my moccs. I'm hungry for what's to come and all of the new, oily hides that I'll get to run my hands down. My lungs are aching for that fresh air and my eyes for those new mountainsides. Here it comes now.

Photo Cred: Google Images


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