One Last Ride

Stocky and solidly built
The wide brimmed hat shading
his weathered face from the mid-day sun

A man of 86
not one to mince words
requesting one last ride before he kicks off

“I was practically born on one of these”
a longing in his eyes
he recounts distant memories
a log cabin in the mountains of Western Nevada
an uncle raising horses

In the saddle now,
he guides the pony around the corral
a mischievous grin spreading across his face