Abby is the toughest young woman I’ve met. How tough? In April, she was kicked in the ribs by a horse, tearing a massive gash in her spleen.
“That must’ve really hurt!” I exclaimed.
“Actually, I’ve had worse,” Abby replied.
Undaunted by a helicopter flight to save her life, a long recovery time and an excruciating ban from riding, Abby hung morosely on the fence as, sidelined, she watched her extended family and friends execute one of the great western rituals: branding.
I couldn’t help using the green corrugated metal of the building, contrasted with its bare metal roof, as a background and frame for Abby, and the the white charolais calves abstractly reflected in the window.