It’s Monday morning for the McCullough Peaks wild horses. The sun hasn’t been up that long. It’s quiet around the waterhole. Soon the days activities begin in earnest, but right now it’s quiet. The air has that crisp tang that only occurs in the morning when it’s calm and the slight breeze off the snow-covered peaks barely stirs the grass. The pond is still and glassy as a mirror. Clouds can be seen passing across its surface and for once there is no dust in the air. That comes later when everyone begins the frantic pursuit of daily life in one of the West’s last wild horse herds.

Right at this moment though there is time for some quiet conversation. Blood feuds between the stallions will be formally commenced as soon as everyone has had that first drink of cold water and the various protagonists look across the herd to see where the competition is. The mares will gather together to bicker and keep watch over the foals so they don’t get trampled in the ensuing melee and the first feeding of the day for the youngster’s gets underway. Everyday is a battle for the herd and everyone in it and it starts again in a moment. Right now though there is blessed calm, a rare event. Time for a few brief moments of reflection, quiet exchanges of whatever needs to be said and to take in the surroundings. Another day begins.