Good Luck

For thirteen years, I was a track rat. And maybe I’ll write about that sometime. Or not.

When a horse is on his way up, he’s treated like a king. When a horse is on his way down, it’s unutterably sad.

But today, I was at Santa Anita to meet friends, watch the morning workouts, and have some breakfast at Clocker’s Corner. The sky blue, air clear, the snort-snort of the horses racing down the backstretch. Mornings at the track are nothing but hope, and everyone rides a wing and a prayer.