|Moi on the shank, Bay Meadows|
|Ponying at Bay Meadows, 1993|
But I still miss the horses. Their beauty humbles me. The chiseled, cocked heads, the streamlined movement and poetry of an innate intelligence. Like a ticking time bomb, their power and danger vibrates perilously, barely contained, seeking release. Exhilarating and terrible combine to create a thrill undefinable.
|Running a nervous filly, Golden Gate Fields|
|Michael & I in the paddock, somewhere on the California Fair Circuit. Great times.|
But man I miss the horses.