Photo: anka zhuravleva
The horses knew before either of us. The bulge not yet visible beneath your red, buttoned-up coat. You stand beside the wooden fence as they nudge softly at your wrist. They follow your movements with huge, imploring eyes, expecting oats or hay, so you bend down and pick a blade of grass. Next time I will bring some apples, you say. The car radio announced snow for that night but it wasn’t even cold.
Can’t wait to horseback ride alllllllll summer
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