Grooming gloves on. Respirator on, too. I should always wear it when I mix feed or groom, but I don’t. Today is different. To hide my embarrassment I conceal the respirator beneath a pink zebra-striped bandanna. Am I embarrassed to value myself? No. It’s not that. I’m afraid of the ridicule. I’m afraid of being called a chicken. It still scares me. There is acceptance, too, even respect for my choices. I know no one really means anything by it and that when push comes to shove we have each other’s backs. Vertical and horizontal both. Red hair clumps and strands float, blow, spin. My breath wheezes strangely, behind the mask. I get a little side eye, momentary incredulity, then we are fine. I’m impervious. I’m wearing my respirator.
Horses on the grass alas. Horses on the grass alas. Short longer grass short longer longer shorter green grass. Horses large horses on the shorter longer green grass alas horses on the grass. If they were not horses what were they. If they were not horses on the grass alas what were they. He had heard of a third and he asked about it it was a Pegasus in the sky. If a Pegasus in the sky on the sky can not cry if the horse on the grass alas can alas and to pass the horse on the grass alas and the Pegasus in the sky on the sky and to try and to try alas on the grass alas the horse on the grass the horse on the grass and alas. They might be very well they might be very well very well they might be. Let Rocky Sweet Al Sweet Al Rocky Rocky let Rocky Rocky Sweet Al Sweet Al Sweet Al Sweet Al Sweet Al let Sweet Al Rocky Rocky let Sweet Al. Let Rocky Sweet Al.