Among the kaleidoscope of experiences and emotions experienced on our "Literature and The Landscape of the Horse" retreat, there is one image that…

Stetson snorted, his head lowered only inches from the ground, the white plastic hoop a round and unknown thing, foreign smelling, a "man" thing.  He snorted again and blew. Small whirlwinds of dust rose from his nostrils. He dipped his nose toward the curve of the PVC pipe, flared his nostrils again, inhaling then blowing the scent back out. 

Puffs of dust rose as Stetson sniffed up and around the length of the hoop, first by his left hoof, then by his right hoof.  Tentatively, stiff…

The memory of all our voices joining together in this song our last night on the river will stay with me always. Thank you Joy, Alice, Amy, Ann, Barbara and Carmel (you were with us in spirit), Cheryl, Donna, Jessica, Jules, Julie, Kathie, Kerri, Marlette, and Shari.

The river is flowing, flowing and growing.

The river is flowing, down to the sea.

Mother carry me, child I will always be.

Mother carry me, down to the sea....

"Cowgirl" by Sarah

She's more than her
chaps, spurs and hat.

She's the horse she rides
and the dog at her side.

She's the calluses on her hands
and how soft she lands.

She's the wrangler, she ropes;
she gallops and lopes.

She's the cows, mustangs, all in stride.
She's the eyes that take her far and wide.