The Meadow

Her hair flowed out behind her and her skirts, divided for riding, bellowed as she worked her mount to into a gallop. The wind on her face was invigorating; the wild smell of the meadow called, but she knew better than to leave the track. In the vibrant tall grass and wildflowers there were holes and ruts which could break a horse’s leg. The sun shone on her face; she smiled as she reined in. She sighed momentarily. Riding, she felt alive, though her current mood was still a pale shadow next to the unending scarlet passion of the rift.