I sit in the corner of this little diner filled with the most unique ambiance. The little table is decorated with a tablecloth that has white and blue checkers and painted apples in a bowl. The walls are paneled wood, and I can see the knots, nicks, and scars that time has given them. The windows are shaded with red and white checkered curtains, and it’s absolutely beautiful. Even when one’s dining by herself. The thing that inspired me the most is this painting I see across the room. There may not be anything spectacular about this painting to you, but to me, it speaks. It’s sort of cloudy or maybe that is just the lighting.

I see the blurred vision of ten or more horses galloping on the horizon. And tall mountains off in the distance. Before the horses, I can see the desert plains. I can see the horses running. I watch them in my mind, and I can picture myself as one of them. I feel the wind flowing through my mane, and I can hear my hooves as they hit the ground in a clop, clop sound. That sound is multiplied then times over with the sounds of my sisters and brothers. I imagine that I have a black coat and a long mangy tale. I have a little colt growing inside me which has slowed my speed ever so slightly. Where we are running to, I do not know. Somewhere in the sunset perhaps, maybe to a field full of wildflowers, maybe, we are on our way to an apple orchard to enjoy a sweet treat.

With that, I am brought back to reality by a funny-looking man. He has on a green button-up shirt and dark blue trousers. Black hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He is in his forty but has horrible acne all over his face. He walks over and offers me a drink. I refuse of course but politely and thus ending my experience at the Western Ranch diner. I now pay for my food and leave with the memory of running free.