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The One Who Runs With What Remains
Some horses in the Quiet Wild run for speed.
Some run for instinct.
Apple ran for something deeper — the kind of motion that carries memory in its stride and leaves a trail of story behind it.
She was a barrel horse, born to turn tight circles and trust the ground even when it shifted beneath her. Horses like her don’t run away from things; they run with them — the lessons, the scars, the echoes of every rider who ever leaned into their mane.
This painting holds her in that familiar lift of motion, mid‑stride, mid‑breath, mid‑story.
A moment suspended between what was and what could have been.
Apple is gone now, but she remains in the way only certain beings do —
in the pattern of her coat,
in the memory of her run,
in the love that tried to bring her home before life caught fire.
She is the one who runs with what remains —
the unfinished conversations,
the almost‑homecomings,
the pieces of a life that didn’t get to complete its circle.
In the Quiet Wild, some creatures keep moving long after their bodies stop.
Not as ghosts,
but as presence —
as motion that refuses to fade,
as story that keeps its stride,
as a reminder that endings are rarely the end.
Apple runs still.
And in this painting, she carries everything that remains.
The One Who Runs With What Remains
Some horses in the Quiet Wild run for speed.
Some run for instinct.
Apple ran for something deeper — the kind of motion that carries memory in its stride and leaves a trail of story behind it.
She was a barrel horse, born to turn tight circles and trust the ground even when it shifted beneath her. Horses like her don’t run away from things; they run with them — the lessons, the scars, the echoes of every rider who ever leaned into their mane.
This painting holds her in that familiar lift of motion, mid‑stride, mid‑breath, mid‑story.
A moment suspended between what was and what could have been.
Apple is gone now, but she remains in the way only certain beings do —
in the pattern of her coat,
in the memory of her run,
in the love that tried to bring her home before life caught fire.
She is the one who runs with what remains —
the unfinished conversations,
the almost‑homecomings,
the pieces of a life that didn’t get to complete its circle.
In the Quiet Wild, some creatures keep moving long after their bodies stop.
Not as ghosts,
but as presence —
as motion that refuses to fade,
as story that keeps its stride,
as a reminder that endings are rarely the end.
Apple runs still.
And in this painting, she carries everything that remains.