When Mina’s mother saw the painting she said: “Who is that beautiful girl sitting next to the boy under the apple tree?”
Mina laughed. “That’s me,” she said. As she looked at the boy, Mina could hear him laughing too.
Mina’s mother kissed her and said. “Thank you, Mina! I want to hang your beautiful painting in a place where I can always see it.”
. . . (continued)
When I took her reins, the mare threw back her ears, flicked her tail, and snorted, just for an instant, with the change of handler. I leaned forward to stroke her neck. I whispered into her silky mane, “Let us go, pretty one. Move, sweet one, beautiful queen.”
. . . I left the men without realizing what I was doing or knowing where I was going. The mare and I became like one, dancing in the wind. Her long mane blew into my face. I felt free. I wanted to ride away and not come back. . . . (continued)