The Gentle Giant

The Gentle Giant blows into my hair and nibbles on my hair in a playful fashion. I let out a laugh and pull my hair from the Gentle Giant. The Gentle Giant watches me with her ever-knowing brown eyes as we head out into the beating Colorado sun. I hoist myself onto the back of the Gentle Giant, before moving into a ring of red clay.

The Gentle Giant and I start with a slow walk, before moving into a jolting trot, before moving into a rolling canter. The wind whips through the Gentle Giant’s mane as it whips through my hair. The world stops, ceasing to exist.

The Gentle Giant and I are one.

Author’s Note: This is a response to the prompt: I thought I would use a fact people don’t know about me to inspire a short piece of fiction. Most people are surprised to find out that I used to own and ride a horse.


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