Horses were never wrong. They always did what they did for a reason, and it was up to you to figure it out.
Living there [Horse Mesa] was like living in a natural cathedral. Waking up every morning, you walked outside and looked down at the blue lake, then up at the sandstone cliffs--those awe-inspiring layers of red and yellow rock shaped over the millennia, with dozens of black-streaked crevices that temporarily became waterfalls after rainstorms.
You're in a horse race but you're thinking like a sheep. Sheep don't win horse races.
Horses are a mirror of who you are. They're emotionally dependent on you.
I became known as Lily Casey, the mustang-breaking, poker-playing, horse-race-winning schoolmarm of Coconino County, and it wasn't half bad to be in place where no one had a problem with a woman having a moniker like that.
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