pretty horses

12 x 16, oil on canvas

"That night he dreamt of horses in a field on a high plain where the spring rains had brought up the grass and wildflowers out of the ground and the flowers ran all blue and yellow far as the eye could see and in the dream he was among the horses running and in the dream he himself could run with the horses and they coursed the young mares and fillies over the plain where their rich bay and their rich chestnut colors shone in the sun...and they moved all of them in a resonance that was like a music among them and they were none of them afraid neither the horse nor colt nor mare and they ran in that resonance which is the world itself and which cannot be spoken but only praised."

 Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses