a snow white that crawls over the bridge of her muzzle and collects itself at her forehead where a circle of white sits beneath her bangs like a daisy. I tuck my notebook and pencil in my waistband and feel it cold against the skin of my hip. I approach the horse, staring into her eyes as they grow larger with nearness. I reach my hand between the wires of the fence, my pale fingers tinted blue with the morning chill. In unison with my outreach, she brings her face toward me, the strong exhale from her snout warm on my knuckles. She pushes herself into my hand, and I let her twist my wrist, push against my fingers to press herself against my palm. I put my hand around her muzzle, solid like a rock, her fur soft like grain, her touch warm against me. She nuzzles into my hand as if she, too, appreciates my warmth during this brisk dawn. There she stands dark like soil against a green meadow. Like the moon shining against a lightless sky. I decide to call her Luna. I sit with random shrubbery tickling my legs, and I let it. I reach for grass and offer it to Luna. I listen to her exhales, like the talk of waves along the shore. Luna breathes. I breathe. The island breathes.
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