The free foal bucks under the bridle.
Does it love freedom more than, say, touch? Than
the careful education of learning to move with another? How we break—
we are broken—with the burden.
It feels as if a whole season has passed since gathering in that little town of Tiny—driving through the fields at sunset, buying groceries next to the arcade, waking up to sun shadows on the white beams overhead, crawling across the stones in shallow waters, eating all day with newfound friends.
I love these two. Nikaela and Thom.