Everything looks better in my dreams Nine pounds' heavier than it seems
Nothing feels as much like home as climbing onto the back of a familiar horse.
Driving down the dirt road toward the mountain, everything smells like crushed creosote and mesquite wood fires and coming home.
Walking up the hill to my old house the cold air steals all the moisture from my hands and leaves them dry and cracked- miniature replicas of the desert landscape.
But burying those hands in Sie’s long dusty winter coat, climbing onto his warm back and feeling the familiar way my legs fit just right behind the slope of his shoulders... that’s home.
I never want to leave.
I went out on a pretty sunset ride with my dad in my desert home on my sweet gelding and everything was very golden and familiar and I was very happy.