I’m on the left wearing my beloved saddle shoes to ride Ginger with my cousin Bethany or was it my father’s bastard daughter raised by one of my many aunts I no longer know but I know you can’t trust history the man in the hat was my grandfather not grandpa or gramps always the formal grandfather sir he whose love of language and length of legs I inherited and one of his horses it is an entire mood that strikes me in the blue hours how I was trotted out with my hair brushed just so the only time I was allowed to wear it long and true on display so my mother could get the money my grandfather was rolling in how my hair flew behind my head when I rode and my sister who I dreamed about all those years but in my dreams she was always my twin and I with my hair streaming out behind me like wings on fire