The horse and rider paused at the crest of the hill.
“Should we take the wagon trail home or cut through the coulee, Mari-bell?” Sarah asked unsure of her own mind. If they took the wagon trail, it would take her another 5 miles to reach the ranch, an easy ride in good weather like it had been that morning but potentially deadly in the inclement weather which had suddenly appeared. She wasn’t prepared for this.
It had been unusually mild weather for January, like a spring day – they called these warm winds Chinooks she’d been told. They were “snow eaters,” that lasted from hours to days. Water had been dripping from the barn roof forming streamlets and pockets of water on her path to the barn. She side-stepped numerous puddles on the way to retrieve her little golden mare with creamy mane and tail. Mari-bell had nickered her usual soft greeting when Sarah opened the barn door.
She had loved Mari-bell from the first moment she’d laid eyes on her. Her father had threatened to sell her at first. “Too small for any of the ranch hands,” he’d said but Sarah rallied for the little palomino. “The horse has a huge heart,” he’d admitted after seeing the girl and horse work cattle. “She won’t quit until the job’s done and did everything and more that you asked of her Sarah!” The girl and horse had an unnatural bond he figured after seeing how the two responded to one another. In the end, he relented and gave the mare to his daughter. It was a rarity not to see the horse and girl together now-a-days.
Mari-bell perked her ears forward and arched her neck over the edge of the stall as Sarah approached. “Too warm for this thick woolen sweater Mother knit for me at Christmas that’s for sure Mari-bell,” Sarah crooned to the horse as she shed her jacket then removed the heavy sweater and hung it on the peg by the stall. “A long sleeved shirt and jacket are all I’ll need today.” She grinned as she pat the horse on the side of the neck, led her to the door of the barn, mounted and trotted away from the ranch toward the school.
How she wished she still had that sweater now! (more…)
The Trefoil Muse 
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