Horsing Around

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“Did she see you take Butter?”

Hailey chuckled, “Nah.”

The stable dame was notorious for imbibing at lunch and for the sprawled-in-chair-nap that followed. If you timed it correctly, you could saddle a horse, enjoy a ride, and return before the woman stirred awake.

“What if she found out?” Dora squirmed on Rocky’s back, and the gelding raised his head in admonition. “Sorry, Rocky,” she placed a palm on the equine’s neck.

Hailey shrugged. “Not like Butter will tattle. Right, Butter?”

The horse neighed in return, and the girls giggled.

Rocky snorted.

“Nor you, Rocky. You ain’t a snitch,” Hailey agreed.

The mare trotted languidly. She had to be just as happy for the outing, let alone with Rocky. If it weren’t for Hailey’s family’s recent trouble, and the sale of Butter to Mrs. Jolly’s stable, the horses would still be grazing together, as they had from colt and filly.

 

 

 

For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

 

Respite Ride

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The sun splashed warmth onto her cheek and she raised her head in wonder. It’s been overcast for days. The rain spitting intermittently through heavy banks of fog. She has been so intent on her needle work, her thread meandering upon the canvas in search of hue-filled flower beds, that she had missed the change in weather altogether.

Her lips lifted and she put the sewing down. However jolly, the pattern was no substitute for the real tapestry that unfurled under bright light outside.

She made haste. There was no way to know how long the patches of blue sky will stay unclothed by clouds.

In the stables, Sally hoofed the earthen floor and shook her head to echo her mistress’s excitement.

“I know,” Mauve tightened the saddle on the mare. “We both of us cannot wait to take a respite ride. The paths await. The sun’s still there!”

 

 

For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

 

Up And Away

Photo prompt © Ronda Del Boccio

 

They’d waited as long as they could, but in the end had to leave without her. Or lose the opportunity.

There would be hell to pay, of course, but they should not all have to suffer the consequences of Mathilde’s tardiness. Not today.

“She’d be furious,” Wanda bit her lip.

“Yep,” Tanya confirmed. She felt bad but not sorry. Sure, Mathilde liked to make an entrance. She liked to keep others on pins and needles. Not today!

Today, for Tanya’s birthday, they lifted to the sky, burners roaring.

Was that Mathilde’s car, tiny, racing at the edge of their horizon?

 

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

 

No Line

 

“There’s no line!” Margo pulled Adina’s hand with one of hers and pointed with the other. “Let’s hurry!”

Adina followed Margo’s finger, shielding her eyes from the sun. It’s been a long day already and they’d only gotten in a little over an hour ago. The drive. The stops. The lines for the tickets. The lines for the entrance. The lines for the bathroom. The lines to the lines …

Her eyes met the target.

What was that!?

A contraption rose ahead, metal-barred and plastic-sheathed, crisscrossed with steps and zigzagged horrors.

“Come on!” Margo danced on the balls of her feet, ecstatic.

Adina felt the hotdog that she didn’t even eat yet threaten a revisit.

No way she was going up that thing. Nope. Ain’t gonna happen.

“Must be a reason no one’s there,” she tried.

“Yeah! Because it is ‘by reservation.’ Aren’t you glad I called ahead and made one?”

 

 

 

For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge

 

 

Spin Cycle

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Photo: Y. Levenberg

 

Making foam of sky

With kicking feet

And screeching mouths,

Must be the new spin

Of a hit thing

Going around.

 

 

For Kammie’s Odd Ball Challenge

 

 

Vintage Ride

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Photo: Atara Katz

 

As you rumble along

Under skies

Blue like song,

Do you travel

Afar

To the past

In this car?

What new memories

You’d share

Of what’s found

Over there?

Do days gone

Still speed on

Scene by scene

Gray and green

By the glean

Of your machine?

 

 

For the Sunday Stills Challenge: Vintage

 

 

My Neighbor’s Bike

 

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Photo by Afta Putta Gunawan on Pexels.com

 

My first bike

Was a neighbor’s bike.

“Too many hills,” my mom had said

As if topography in any way diminished

The accelerated thrill

Of legs off pedals

From the top of the rise

To our street.

There was no arguing

Or vowing to share and never fight.

We knew her words were code

For “we cannot afford.”

But my sister’s friend across the street

Did have a bike

And with it the absolute power to dispense

Rides, routes, direction, and duration.

There were no training wheels

To ease one in.

There was no question of admitting

Complete lack of experience

And risking an evaporated offer.

So it was guts and trepidation

A stranglehold on the handlebar

And the utter exhilaration

Of flying.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World Challenge