When I remember the two of them in this stretch of life, this is what I’ll remember.
Older sister as the horse, galloping full-on. Younger sister on piggyback or tucked into a cart. The two of them do this for hours each day. It’s no wonder the older one is solid muscle, and the younger one knows the difference in rhythm of trotting and cantering, despite the fact she’s never done either on a horse.
The symbolism of these roles is not lost on me. The older one, running as fast as she can, her body moving as quickly as her brain, which is teeming with huge ideas. The younger one is the quieter half of the duo, happy to ride, but knows she is instrumental to this game.
As with all sisters, they fall in and out sync with one another. They are joyously engaged one moment, and then it all falls to pieces. But then when I turn back around, there they are, galloping down the driveway.
(Taken in the wee hours of the day, before I’ve even had a chance to brew my coffee.)