Our first introduction came on an exceptionally warm summer day. I looked down to see a shy eight-year-old girl with tangled blond hair peeling around her mother's led. She stood with her arms either behind her back or hanging straight down at her sides. She was downcast, chin down, head down; only her eyes lifted briefly to look at me. They were beautiful, pale blue pools with dark rims—intense, intelligent, and profoundly sad.
     Despite the warm weather, she wore a little vest decorated with horses. This little girl needed to be here. I knew she desperately needed acceptance by someone who would love her just as she was. "What's your name?" I asked, crouching down to her level.
     Without looking up she simply replied, "Robin."
     I complimented her on the beautiful vest she asked, "Would you like to ride a horse?" Her response was a solemn nod.
    Soon we were kneeling in front of a small, freckled mare, preparing to feed her some well-deserved carrots.  I held Robin's tiny hands in mine and watched the wonder come over her face as the horse's soft muzzle touched her hands for the first time. In those moments, her eyes changed. The furrow between her blond eyebrows relaxed into a smooth, flawless plane. Her heart responded like snow to a spring thaw.
    Together we groomed and tacked the gentle mare. I helped Robin snap on her helmet, and then she was ready for her first ride. She received her few simple instructions with the sobriety of a judge, but underneath I could sense a continuing thaw of her emotions. Droplets formed beneath a radiance of trust. Falling like tears, they converged into tiny rivulets. The small streams began to gather and swell into a rising current of confidence. In this moment of time she was allowing a horse to go where no one had been permitted for a long time. The carefully built walls of her heart were, step by step, being smashed beneath the hooves of a newfound trust.
     The falling of the autumn leaves mirrored the falling away of Robin's self-consciousness. With the remarkable resilience of a child, her heart began to change as brick by brick a new foundation of hope was being constructed. Daily, her sense of confidence and self-esteem increased. She was a voracious student, learning at an exceptional rate, while her initial intensity was now being systematically eroded by frequent girlish giggles. Her laughter, now lacking it's former anchor of fear, was increasingly finding it's way to the surface.
     On a chilly fall day I watched in amazement as Robin cantered by. I had to remind myself that she had been riding for only a few weeks. Toward the end of her lesson, I joined her mother at the arena rail for no other reason than to share how impressed I was by Robin's riding ability. I had just begun to speak when I saw her mother's eyes rapidly filling with tears. Her diminutive frame began to shake, and she covered her mouth with one tiny hand. With her other hand she cradled her infant son. Her huge eyes closed tightly for a moment.
     The only sound was that of her other young daughter who was nearby throwing sticks for our puppy. Time seemed to hold it's breath. At last, Robin's mother turned to me and said softly, "If we hadn't found this place, we would have lost her."  Her tears fell in silence as together we watched Robin in the arena, stride by stride, leave her demons behind.
     Robin's journey toward self-confidence continued and one week before Thanksgiving I watched this precious blond girl, with no help at all, ride a tall, elegant Anglo-Arab mare. The mare's graceful mane and tail and Robin's ponytail all combined in a floating rhythm under the brilliant evening sky. Set against a deep purple and magenta horizon, it was like watching a dance, human and equine hearts moving together in a timeless embrace.
     I bit my gloves off and clapped my bare, cold hands together so she could hear me. She trotted in toward me, and I spread my arms wide open and shouted, "Wow!" Reaching up, balancing on tiptoes, I met her in a huge hug. Her little face glowed. She was not the same girl I had met only seven weeks before. "I'm so proud of you, Robin. I know your parents are, too," I added, as she prepared to cool the horse down. "Your dad would amazed to see what you've done here. When are you going to invite him to come and watch you?"
     Her glow quickly faded into shades of gray. Her eyes dropped to the ground. "He'll never come," she finally said in a quiet voice. "He's too busy."
     The grip of poverty had pushed this young family nearly to the breaking point. I could only a imagine a young father of three trying to maintain the balance between work and family. Clearly, from this eight-year-old's perspective, Dad was absent from the things that she valued the most.
     We rushed to tack down under the final applause of the what had been a violently beautiful sunset. What a remarkable end to a spectacular day, I thought, as I watched this precious family drive down the hill and away from ranch.
     Suddenly, in the twilight, bright red taillights flashed. Before the car had completely stopped, the passenger door opened, and a small familiar form came running back to me. "I almost forgot," Robin puffed. "I have something for you." Her little clutched hand rose toward my face, and in the dim light I could see that she was holding a tiny school picture of herself.
     "Honey, you are so beautiful!" I exclaimed as I turned the picture over. What I read on the back dropped my to my knees. My voice nearly failed as I tried to thank her. From my knees, I wrapped my arms around her tiny body and hugged her tightly.
     Still kneeling in the dust after they had driven away, I looked again at my little picture. Next to a childlike drawing of a horse, the inscription said simply, "Thank you for giving me wings so I can fly."

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