Honeysuckle and Molasses

The smell of molasses permeates the air as Poco’s steamy breath billows from her flared nostrils. She gives me a good sniff-over, taking extra time to inspect my skinned elbows and nibble on the honeysuckle dangling from my hair. Her thick wet slab of a tongue leaves trails of grassy slobber smeared across my forehead and arms as she inspects the damage. After a few moments she seems satisfied that I am in one piece and she raises her head back into the air. She towers so high above me that she looks like a giraffe. I giggle as I picture her with big pink spots and some knobby antlers.

Defiantly she thrusts her head up toward the sky, curls her lip into the air, and as she rolls her eyes back into her head she enjoys a good laugh at my expense. Poco didn’t think it was a good idea for us to reenact the Kentucky Derby on such a steep hill. This is how she tells me “I told you so!” Poco rubs my nose in it every time lost an argument with gravity. I climb to my feet, spit out a baby tooth and made sure no one had seen the spill. My secret was safe with her.

A black and white barred wild turkey feather catches my eye. I pluck it from the ground and braid it into Poco’s unruly mane. My dirty blood streaked skin has me feeling a little savage as I use a fist full of mane to pull myself back onto my steed. This time I am a fierce Indian warrior and Poco is a wild mustang. We set off in search of the mighty Buffalo that inhabit the backyard.