While riding, he liked to test my grip on the reins by sneaking bites of grass. I focused on maintaining gentle contact, enough to remind him I was there—although whether I was or not, I knew he would follow the pack. I never felt bad about robbing him of his roadside snacks, because in the off-hours he would be turned out to graze freely.

On a rest day, the horses lingered on a sandbar, their bodies relaxed and quiet, huddled together for protection. In the silhouette of the herd, I could make out close friends grooming and nuzzling each other. Free from the fetters of saddles and bridles, their demeanor suggested lazy bathers standing knee high in cool waters to best the Sunday heat. I reflected on learning to ride in stables that only turned out horses for short, sporadic periods, and how their resentment was palpable in the holes they had kicked through their stalls’ walls.

What began as an attempt to hold on to my memories, morphed into a story about two friends who peeled away from the pack after being set free to roam for the evening. In a tight span, the partners commiserate on work and comfort each other against all else. Much like ourselves, who, after the whistle blows, spend our evenings striving to reclaim our natural state only to be pulled back into the grind come sun up.

– Graham Landin, August 2024