The soil along the path we walk shares its space with the ashes of our father, our brothers, and our niece.

Through the mountains blows the winds of toil ~ honest, hard, sweating, simple work. Work with horses.

The horses’ eyes, haunted with the fire of passion from long ago as well as an unparallelled understanding. It is a ritual we have learned to adore ~ not to ride or dominate them ~ just to be with them in the stillness of their heaving breath.

Beside, through, and over the river there is water that cleanses and nourishes us. And we can begin again to walk along the path.


My family and I.