The morning mist lies over the ground
Thin and soft as an old cotton blanket
Steel-shod hooves move delicately
Puffs of dust rising with each step

A blue heron rises from the mist
Wings lifting like the sound of a gospel choir
Startled, hands grasp leather reins
Maintaining control

Years pass
We rise, we fall
We fall, we rise

The stirrup becomes harder to reach

One day we fall and rise no more
We lie in the dust, broken
Until a soft grass blanket covers us
And we sleep
Dreaming
Of morning mist, steel-shod hooves and herons
We are still cowgirls