I thought about the lion sometimes as I walked around camp. It felt strangely communal. I was sharing space with the lion. Sacred space.

I was so moved when I watched that horse roll. I understood that the horse simply wanted to roll, a completely normal thing for a horse, and the horse felt safe enough in that moment to do so. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of a belonging as I watched the horse roll and as we stood there with all of them. All of us together at the watering hole. Hanging out together. The same horses we shared lunch with yesterday. I felt a sense of community with these wild horses.

We rode in silence. An intent to peacefully be with the land. A choice to quietly snake through the desert disrupting as little as possible. It was relaxing. I imagine that our string of horses probably enjoyed it more, too, than the chatty rides they often work. A walking meditation on horseback.

This is the first of four stories I want to share about my time with the wild mustangs out west. I am not a writer, but you will see that my writing is better than my photos. I never feel the need for the latest and greatest cell phone until I want better pictures. But, I was too immersed in the experience to take many photos anyway. I had my phone with me, but it was turned off and tucked away in my saddle bag most of the time. I write to remember.