If time could be recognized, then we would have no need for clocks or calendars. These things are metres set against a background of haze and dream. The truth of time is that we live it. We breathe in moments and release seconds to the atmosphere where they bound and prance, teasing us before disappearing completely. They taunt us with their ephemerity.
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Jake Hughes, the owner of Blue Sky Horse Farm, sat at his kitchen table sipping coffee as he stared out the window at what could only be described as a gloomy Saturday morning. Overnight rains had left the farm drenched and a heavy fog had set in, obscuring his view of the mountains that encircled the pastures where his horses grazed. The house was quiet and dark and it was times like this that he was most lonely.
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I had just graduated at Wesley Women's Academy and along with five other girls was taking a summer course that was a combination of horseback riding and sex education. We had finished our morning ride and were standing in one of the barns dressed in our riding gear listening to Miss Chambers our sex teacher. She was a tall woman with a broad ass and huge tits. She wore her usual costume: comfortable shoes and a long, white lab coat over a knee length, blue skirt.
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