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I spent lazy hours in silent sunshine by the creek, watching a moment of my own childhood from a strange third-person point of view while Amy and Dad caught rainbow trout. The first cattle drive of the year crested the ridge on Hill Road, and I thought how in an alternate existence I might have been a cowgirl, following the plodding herds up to their summer range in the mountains on early Saturday mornings. I breathed the chilly west wind and felt orchard grass heads slapping my elbows, cold irrigation water spraying down my back. My horse tucked her head into my chest for one of her sweet hugs when I left, and I gave her white star a kiss.