My Sister, the Wrangler

When my sister

was little,

all she

dreamed of

was horses.

I'd look out

the window

and see her

galloping around

and around the field,

long hair flying out behind.

In her mind,

she was

riding.

She grew up

to be

a banker,

and she does

that job well.

But, in her heart,

in the parallel reality

of her wildest dreams,

she is

a rancher's wife

in the Interior,

on a spread

with five hundred head,

rolling hills

and miles of fields

for all-day rides

and, after a flapjack breakfast,

she and her cowboy husband

ride

the whole day long.

My sister

should have been

a Rodeo Queen.

She "robs the train"

on Saturdays

to thrill the tourists.

She spends Sundays

cattle sorting

and barrel racing.

On her face,

in her horse world,

she can't

stop grinning.

Our mom

always wanted

a photo

of her galloping,

her hair streaming

out behind.

I have that photo

in my mind,

that ten year old girl,

galloping

around and around

 the back meadow,

hair flying out behind,

a thousand dreams

and a reality

away

from her

perfect life.