We get out of the car and stand still a while. Look over at the last of the sun as it hovers behind the hills, turns the white sky yellow. A cord of blue smoke's crawling up into it, out back of the Burrell's and I smell sheep dust, soap left over on clean bodies. The gentleness of it all's so loosely laid around us, on top of us. God's rolled it out like a piece of old, grey muslin. I feel contained, the world's a small, very soft place and I have nothing, absolutely nothing, against it.

Then this horse over the fence tosses its head down and snorts. Shoots snot out its nose. It rears onto its back legs and whinnies, opening its eyes wide so the whites show. Crosses them. Bolts sideways and leaps out into the paddock. Is framed by a golden light before disappearing into a blur of grass and hill and sky. Pushing against the air like it's a solid thing.