The old cowgirls loins lust for a horse beneath she and the exquisite, jet black saddle that she hesitantly had placed back on the saddle stand after lovingly rubbing its every pore with leather conditioner. Moving on she polished the silver of the bridal as though it were going to a wedding, and then every concho, buckle and screw. She holds the warm leather , soft and supple, as gently as she would a new born baby bunny. It’s natural odor mixed with that of the horse from years past brings a flutter to her heart. This horse, what if not for the smells, the saved pictures and her equipment would be but a forgotten memory of a past love. She was a beauty. An Arab. She held her head high, and could clear a five foot gate with only ten feet of run before her At a lively prance, could pass all the others, the Quarters, the Saddlebred, and the Paint as her blazing, flaxen mane along with her majestic, flaunting tail teased them, beckoned them to keep up. She’d toss her head and her gleaming ebony eyes laughed at them. She knew she was in a league of her own. The only one on the ranch that she had eyes for was the old cowgirl, however, it had been in a day when the old gal had been much younger. They had traveled many miles through the trails below the mountain, walked the cool stream at the end of day and many a time the cowgirl slept in the barn with her. By the light of a lantern, she read all about the adventures of other famous and beautiful, brave horses. But at the end of each story she’d tell the Arab that none were a match to her. They would each drift off, the Arab in her stall, with it’s fresh chips and a bucket of cool water should she get thirsty. The cowgirl on a broken bale of straw in the corner of the stall, her boots as a pillow, covered with the Arabs sheet. Many years now the Arab has been gone. Still, the stall is clean with fresh chips and fresh water any time anyone enters the barn. There they see the Arabs blanket, clean and fresh hanging over the side of the stall, her sheet hanging just outside to the right of the stall along with her halter and lead ropes, ready….ready to be used at any given minute. But they weren’t. The cowgirl had never got past her Arab. She longed to see her face each day as she entered the barn. She ached inside to hear the soft nicker in her voice as they greeted in the early morning hours, before anyone else was up, and prepared for that first ride of the day. And she knows, the Arab waits for her. The Arab will greet her with joyful nickers when the day comes. And when she goes to meet the Arab, she’ll arrive with gear in hand, ready for use, as if there had not been a day gone by between their passing.