Sarah Zielstorf

Wander

It was 6:30 a.m, the frosty air excited Angie as she tacked up her horse for the morning wrangle. A dirtied floral bandana keeps her daisy dipped hair off her face as she paces the barn floor, ignoring her coffee cup. Donnie was running a little late but she knew he would come as he always does. Donnie is frequent at the barn but this would be his first time wrangling. The faint sound of weathered cowboy boots confidently strolling across the gravel and into the barn alerted Angie that Donnie had finally arrived. Donnie’s tousled black hair was slicked back under his felt cowboy hat. If it weren’t for his matching vest and jeans, Angie wouldn’t have noticed the five o'clock shadow crawling across his sun soaked face. He tips his hat in Angie’s direction. They share a quick “Mornin” and Angie points out Donnie’s horse. Although Donnie looks the part he couldn’t be farther from a cowboy, though he wanted to be one. As Donnie fumbles with the tack, holding the bridle upside down, Angie chuckles to herself. Donnie looks up at Angie with a hesitant smile, she promptly walks over. Her rusted spurs jangled as she lightly stomped her numb feet, encouraging them to regain feeling. Angie walks Donnie through how to tack up. While giggling through her words she guides his gloved hands while her worn ones bear the cold. The horses patiently wait but not without the occasional snort or swat of a fly. Finally they were ready to ride. Angie helps Donnie mount up and adjusts his stirrups, she has no problem moving his leg where she needs it to be. Donnie looks at her with bashful cold cheeks and a sheepish smile as he quietly thanks her.