They say wild horses roam all through the hills around here. I only see one: a red-brown mustang skirting the sagebrush. Behind me, my father’s motorcycle sputters back to life. We eye each other jealously, that horse and I: he on his side of the fence and I on mine.
Sticking with my favorite micro format for the fiction|poetry grid, but settled on 50 words instead of the old 42. Inspired by this week’s prompt up.
Christine Hanolsy 
I love this, Christine! A motorcycle and a wild horse on either side of the fence, just brilliant!
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I like the backstory introduced by the motorcycle coming back to life.
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You always amaze with your work
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So much meaning beneath/beyond the last line. I’m really liking the “s” sounds in this, skirting/sagebrush/sputters.
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Loved this! I don’t think I have ever seen a wild horse but I imagine it would be as fierce as a motocycle sounds. I’m still trying to write 35
500word or more stories for this year, otherwise I would totally be doing 50word stories too. Hehe maybe for moonshine I will. ☺
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