The Scorpio Races
It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.Even under the brightest sun, the frigid autumn sea is allthe colors of the night: dark blue and black and brown. I watchthe ever-changing patterns in the sand as it’s pummeled by countless hooves.
They run the horses on the beach, a pale road between the black water and the chalk cliffs. It is never safe, but it’s never sodangerous as today, race day.
This time of year, I live and breathe the beach. My cheeksfeel raw with the wind throwing sand against them. My thighssting from the friction of the saddle. My arms ache from hold-ing up two thousand pounds of horse. I have forgotten what itis like to be warm and what a full night’s sleep feels like andwhat my name sounds like spoken instead of shouted acrossyards of sand.
I am so, so alive. ......
