11/19/2025
When I was young, I fell in love with horses. My best friend Jolene rode them, wrote all of her book reports about them and would tell me all about how amazing they were. We used to sneak to the outskirts of our neighborhood to talk to the horses that lived in the farm that backed up to us, one of the last remaining hold outs that had yet to sell their land to a suburban Kansas real estate developer.
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There were at least 2 or 3 horses on that farm. Jolene and I would stand on the outside of the splintery wooden fence and call them over to us. We knew that if we could just get close enough Jolene could surely mount one and ride it ba****ck all over the pasture.
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One day she got up the nerve to climb in and get close. I, being ever the rule follower, stayed on the outside of the fence where I couldn’t technically be charged for trespassing, to stand watch.
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Jolene kicked her legs through the fence posts, and made her way towards the largest of the horses, a black stallion with a long black mane. She spoke gently to him, easing him towards her. She wasn’t worried about getting muddy or getting hurt, or getting caught, as I was, she only wanted to be as close as possible to the magic of him.
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Here is where the story gets murky. I know that most likely she barely pet him and then we made our way slowly back home, but my mind.....my mind likes to remember that she was able to get close enough to grab his mane. That she was strong enough to swing her leg over the top of him, mounting him ba****ck somehow with her tiny 9 year old body. That he took off in a gallop and that her long light brown hair whipped behind her as he ran across the field, with me hooping and hollering from the sidelines.
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It remains one of the most beautiful, wild moments of my life and like it probably never really happened that way. My limitless imagination may have been what provided me that amazing memory, but either way my love for horses and all things wild, taught to me by my wildest friend, remain. 🖤