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I don't know why I still get surprised when I try and draw horses and it's just really goddamn difficult.

Anyway, this one is for a childhood memory of spending all day with my best friend making clover chains to put on our horses. She had a brown-and-white paint who used to bolt hills and run under trees, but was otherwise pure sweetness, and I had a red-chestnut named Mohawk, who had a sun-bleached mane, and couldn't put a foot wrong if he tried. 

It's also for the recent realisation that if I can call that particular memory my own, I was granted a very, very special life.