There's nothing quite like a frosty morning on a ranch.

Rise in the dark, layer up, snug your hat down, chug a hot beverage, crunch through the cold- and frost-stiffened grass. The sky will turn from black to inky blue, soften to a steely grey, a light grey, a glowing grey. And a golden light will burst over the edge of a ridge, strike the face of a steaming horse and his shrugged up rider. In the warming glow, thousand pound bodies will tear across the grass, specks against towering peaks, and the percussion will beat through my ribcage, my body recalling something from another lifetime, something my ancestors knew, worshipped.