Dear Winter,

Last night it lingered at zero degrees. The horses’ whiskers are beaded in ice, their breath a ghostly whisper. The cold seeps further than the physical, freezing my willpower to go be outside, where I love to roam.

Until I do. When I bundle, insulating myself from the frozen world, and face the forces of nature; I feel so very alive.

When the neighbor-boys, coats flapping, unzipped; duck through the weathered fence and climb aboard a bareback steed, we’re connected in the winter-wild.

Thank you winter.

I forgive you.

Now, can we call a truce?

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