I am moving for the door when through the kitchen window I see Aggie. She’s outside. My feet stop. I watch my sister walk to the horse and reach up to Gall’s mane and swing herself onto her back. She presses her body and my body against the horse’s spine, laying herself flat and heavy and ardent, calming her with our heartbeat, our firm, gentle hands, our breathing. Gall’s hooves fall still on the grass, her whole being falls still, one with the woman on her back. Bewitched by that whispering touch, that knowing my sister was born with. When Aggie places her face against the neck of the
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