Growing up, I was a horse girl. I had read all the books in the library that had remotely to do with horses. I had memorized all the bones in a horse's body and what plants they shouldn't eat. My room was plastered with horse posters. And I dreamed of roaming around on a horse of my own. And then last Friday, Antelope Island felt that way. To take in the wind and the wide-open grasslands and to ride a horse again was amazing and made feel like that 12-year-old girl with a self-made horse sweater.
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