It is a beautiful Saturday morning as she packs them a picnic lunch and a bottle of sweet wine while her lover saddles their horses out in the barn. The sun is shining and a few wisps of cloud drift slowly through the summer sky, catching on the mountains like stretched cotton candy. The birds are singing and the breeze carries the sweetness of hay and roses through the house.
Their children are all visiting the various grandparents this weekend so they have two days of precious time alone to themselves and they plan to make the most of this unfortunately rare event.
She walks out onto the porch, picnic basket in hand, as he leads their favorite horses, a roan mare, and a dappled stallion to the porch. He ties the basket to her saddle, gives her a long kiss, and tells her how beautiful she looks before helping her up on her mount. As they ride past the garden, she stops to pick some fresh strawberries and he cuts some of the special pink roses he grows only for his love.
Crossing the stream, they turn north and ride slowly, side by side into the forest, two carefree lovers enjoying the dappled shade and soft summer breezes sighing through the pines and ruffling the aspens. The majestic mountains form the perfect backdrop to a picture postcard day and the sky is a deep blue only God could have painted.
Playfully, he leans over and, giving his lover a quick kiss, spurs his horse, and gallops away toward the pass between the rolling hills, whooping, and hollering like an Indian on the warpath.
Urging her horse onward, she follows his trail, yelling after him and riding hard until she catches up and passes him. She stops, reining her horse sideways to block the path.
He reigns in his horse and sidles up beside her, a rose extended forward like a trophy. She triumphantly takes the rose, head held high, eyes flashing, daring him to say something, anything at all.
Grinning like a little boy, he leans forward to whisper in her ear. She blushes and looks slyly at him from under her hat brim as they turn and continue down the trail together.
After a couple of miles, they turn down a side trail leading down a narrow draw into a small box canyon where they come on picnics and outings with their children. A clear blue pond shimmers in the afternoon sun, fed by a small waterfall at the far end of the secluded canyon. Fragrant grasses and small fruit trees flourish in this small pocket of heaven, known only to them and a few others.
Dismounting, they walk, hand in hand, leading the horses. At the edge of the pond, they water their mounts, and then hobble them to graze on the sweet grasses.