February 2026 – Tales of a Family

You should still be here, but silence lingers; your laughter is a distant memory, a mischievous sense of humor, contagious and warm. Your joy spread easily, laughing until you cried at the antics of one of your sons. Miss the advice, even the unwanted, to hear your voice one more time. The hugs…tender, with a wisp of dark roast and cream. Love’s simple lessons and family tales. I share them now so we will never forget you or your love. Truth be told, I see you every day in the clouds, among the crowds, and in a child’s laughing face. I hear you whisper in the gentle breeze when aspens tremble and buntings sing. You are not where you were, but you are everywhere I am. I find you in the hush amid heartbeats, inside the stillness before sunrise, and in the silent moments of my journey; I feel your presence.

Stroking Beau’s head, I whispered to my best friend, “The day is all ours.” I inhaled his warm, musky scent, which blended with earth and hay, and finally relaxed, hoping moments like this could last forever. My responsibilities suddenly found their way to the back burner. This morning, I would enjoy a ride with my incredible beauty.

Beau, a breathtaking combination of Arabian and Quarter horse, glistened in the morning sun. He was all black, including his long mane and tail, except for the white blaze on his nose and his four white socks. He pawed the ground, and I laughed. He was ready to hit the country roads and backtrails, too. It was a short ride to Brush Hollow, and we had the whole day to ourselves.

I gathered the reins and quickly placed one foot in the stirrup and swung myself into the saddle, my body moving without hesitation, without pain, without thought. Beau knew where we were heading and turned out of the yard and onto the road. His strength and calm always gave me the right amount of confidence. Life always felt right when moving along in the saddle with my favorite companion. Even on those days I worked in the garden, Beau would snicker, letting me know he wanted out of his corral. He followed me around like a puppy, enjoying our closeness as much as I did. I never worried about him running off; he always stayed close, even when I happened to fall off and needed him to wait. We had an unspoken trust. Beau was more than just a horse; he was my anchor, my friend, and my sense of freedom.

As the asphalt turned into dirt roads, we began to canter towards the lake. The spring day offered a cloudless blue sky, and the smell of pinyon and juniper trees and sun-warmed earth filled the air. Cows grazed in green pastures, and occasional moo drifted near us. Spring calves jumped and ran, and made me smile at their antics.

Once we passed the cows, I nudged Beau into a run, wanting to get to Brush Hollow as quickly as possible. The wind whipped my hair, his mane, and tail. It felt like we were flying along that dusty road.

Time slowed and stretched before us, almost standing still as we galloped towards the lake. Dust kicked up behind us while Beau ran as if he could not arrive at our trails soon enough. All thoughts of work and bills dissolved; no future, no past, just this one perfect moment with Beau, a moment I didn’t yet know I would return to again and again. It was quiet understanding, knowing that this day was precious, and I was full of gratitude.

Once we arrived at our familiar path, Beau naturally slowed to a walk, the rhythm of his hooves softening along the trail. The leaves of the cottonwood trees rustled in the wind. A stillness and peace settled in as we began our trek along the path. This rider felt whole, unbroken, and untouched by time. Silence ended when we disturbed a flock of Pinyon Jays. Their cries warned others of our arrival, as if the land itself needed to speak before everything changed. The peace felt too complete, too perfect, the kind that only exists when memory takes over.

And then it happened. The weight of this body refused to move as it once did. Pain returned, along with the heartache and realization that Beau was gone. Opening my eyes, I blinked. My cane rested next to my nightstand. Slowly, I realized I dreamed of him again. Sitting up in bed, I winced as pain spread through my back. Grief rested for a moment, as a single tear moved down my cheek. For one lone moment, I allowed the emotional ache of knowing what was lost and could never be again. But I quickly pushed it away, only allowing the pain to last for an instant. For I had lived those perfect moments with Beau, and for that, I would always be grateful.

Prompt: For the first prompt of the 2025 challenge (drum roll, please!): Write a story based on the idea “if you could have just one more.”