The flat fruit of the locust fell, lying like curved blades in the grass. August ripened the sedge clumps. Father began to come home from the mines in middle afternoon, no longer trudging the creek road at the edge of dark with a carbide lamp burning on his cap. He came now before the guineas settled to roost in the black birch. We watched the elder thicket at the hill turn and plunged down to meet him as he came into sight. The heifer ran after us. - James Still, River of Sand
This is not a book for skimming. You’ll want to keep it on your nightstand, savor every word, and dream sweet, horsey dreams. Who knows? You may wake up a better horseman, and a better person. - Rick Lamb
All my short life I had loved horses. I’m not even sure why. After all, I had never actually been around real horses. …I have no good explanation as to why I was smitten by them. But like so many other boys and girls my age, I just was. - Mark Rashid, Horses Never Lie
P.S. 11/17: Continuation of thoughts on Rashid's work and related topics on one of my other blogs -- here.