"Wild Horses of Colorado"

   The setting sun shimmered on the distant hills, and the wind carried with it the dry, mineral scent of sage. Each hoof print in the dust felt like a signature, a quiet reminder that these wild horses moved at their own pace, untethered and unhurried. I waited in the hush of the basin, my camera ready, heart attuned to every shift in shadow or sudden burst of movement. When they finally appeared—a patchwork of duns, paints, roans, and bays—their manes tossed by the dry wind, I felt an old, wild magic at work. They watched me as I watched them, a wary truce born of curiosity and centuries-old instinct. These mustangs, shaped by wind, weather, and lineage, reminded me how little of the West is truly tamed.