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Forgiving Wind
“Welcome to the wild,” he says, jumping off his favorite horse.
He shuffles over like an ostrich, kicking the mud from dusty stirrups, holding out a crusty weather-beaten glove. I shake it, out of politeness, if nothing else. My mother doesn’t condone"He shuffles over like an ostrich, kicking the mud from dusty stirrups.... My mother doesn't condone cowboys trampling her tomatoes; that would be reprehensible. But Mama's out searching for gold." cowboys trampling her tomatoes; that would be reprehensible"He ...
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