I scan the dark road that stretches out before me and cluck softly to the dark bay I was astride.
"Lets run boy," I whisper into his black tipped ear.
He whuffles softly and I feel his muscles quiver in anticipation. And in a flash he breaks from the melodious walk into a smooth, fluid gallop.
This was the moment I lived for.
We streak silently along the flat dirt road, my horse's single white sock flashing below me. I lean low over his neck, wrapping my hands in his coarse black mane. I had left my tack dumped in the dirt and hopped on bareback and bridless, my favorite. So now we fly, farther and farther away, leaving our problems floating awkwardly in the dust. The sheer joy of seeing the world go by in a blur was breathtaking.
The surging, rippling muscles below me, the long stride of the dark thoroughbred I was riding, and the wind in my face, making my hair whip out behind me.
That's the word I was searching for.
It would have been perfect, but time, no matter how much you want it to, does not slow.
After a few more blissful minutes of racing along in the dark, I gently shift my weight back, giving my horse the signal to slow. He eventually slides back into a rollicking canter, then a flat walk, as reluctant as I to end the moment we both lived for.
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