Tobias the percheron gallops down the fence line straight towards me and jumps from the sand in what I think is a moment of near capriole. (I believe I might stand a chance of surviving a good medieval fight on the big boy, as unlikely as that may be!) Caprichosa shakes her head, tail high, and farts in an unladylike manner with each round and lofty step. Teyla the appaloosa leaps into the air in her all time favorite, the spotted horse courbette.

The geese are squawking now, our barnyard symphony, while my husband’s hot-blooded Arabian mare floats through the pines, teacup muzzle tucked to her chest, inky mane and tail billowing. Diamond hard hooves just skimming the earth, she is liquid and air. Matilda-the-tenacious-heeler spins like a dirt devil and runs wild with the herd, black lips pulled back in a dog grin, thinking perhaps that she is a horse too. Still-lame Pinon watches meekly from behind a juniper tree, and I feel sorry for her until suddenly I am one of those smooth boulders in the middle of the big white water, teeming waves of horses spilling around on either side of me.

I turn to watch as they pass. Muscles rippling beneath arched necks and sleek hindquarters, my horses' shadows flicker on the cave wall. They are what I think I might have etched or scrawled on rock if it hadn’t already been done by somebody else. Hoofbeats drum as the sun breaks over the mountain tops, burning brighter than any fire I could build. The sparks inside of horses, dog, and woman, fly and smolder hot.

I take a sip of the near scalding coffee from my husband’s cracked plastic Conoco cup. The one I snagged from the dishwasher this morning on the way out to feed the horses because I was half asleep in my pajamas, barn jacket and unlaced boots.

I’m no longer drowsy. For the moment, I am wide-awake.

Flickr photos by: maxwell misty