I watched the horses run, wild and free and unmoving across the stretched canvas. A young one, somewhere between foal and colt, led the small herd, her gangly, undeveloped limbs at odds with her dominance.    Wonder if that one is still alive.   I didn’t know when the picture had been taken…any longer than a couple of decades back would mean that most of the herd were already gone. But maybe the young one had escaped the confines of color and paper into the wildness of her being, the small streak of white between her eyes now a full blaze still bleeding into her chestnut forelock.    I once spent an April afternoon with a little girl and her family. We had become connected through my For The Sender project, after her mom handed me a bundle of letters after a show. Those letters inspired songs and stories, which made their way into the second For The Sender book and album.   The family invited me over one Easter Sunday, and the little girl was full of joy, dancing and singing along with the songs I played in the backyard. She was the light of her mother’s life. Everyone’s, really.   A handful of days ago, that light went out.   Yesterday, a friend sent me an older video of that little girl singing along to a For The Sender song called ‘Never Alone.’ She’s in her car seat, swaying and pointing at her mom as she yells the words.   I would never leave you I would never leave you Even in your pain  You are never alone    I think that song has it both right and wrong. Right, because the light of her physical presence is gone, but she’ll burn forever in the hearts of those who loved her, and in this way, they’ll never be alone.   And wrong, because she did leave. She’s with that young horse now, having both escaped the confines of color and paper into the wildness of their being, the small streak of white between their eyes now a full blaze still bleeding into their chestnut forelock.    I watched the horses run, wild and free and unmoving across the stretched canvas.   Be free, Skyla.   Wild and free.