On Monday, I found a fading trail of horse hooves that splintered the ground like a forgotten promise.

On Tuesday, I caught a glimpse of his fiery coat that glimmered like the setting sun.

On Wednesday, I stroked his rippling, murky blaze that jets across his nose bridge.

On Thursday, I giggled at hearing his sassy, sudden snort.

On Friday, I savoured his familiar and lovable scent that lingered in his mud-splatted paddock.

On Saturday, my heart thrillingly skipped a beat as he galloped towards me, his chestnut coat cascaded like thunder.

On Saturday, I wondered why at such a mature, veteran age must he be retired from the extreme skill of riding.