It’s not always easy getting up
to squint toward sunset’s fireball.

This time of year, even the mossy footpaths
have dried to dirt, and blow harmless

tornado bouquets. The scent of alder
mixes with the sweat of the horse who

is running uphill toward forests and vistas.
She churns her hooves as if every step

might be her last. Not like you think.
But like every step is her first, too.

Like this is the day that will be
the most important of her life.

Like she’s taking you along
just for the ride.