While sifting through the many beautiful (and sad) images in the BLM library looking for photos to accompany your work, I came across this black and white photo of a plaque in Colorado dedicating the Little Book Cliffs Wild Horse Range to Wild Horse Annie (aka Velma Bronn Johnston)…

by Violet Inkpen | “Jess! Come on!” Jess turned around. Her friend, Amy, called “Amz” by her friend, was slowly walked towards her, leading a tall, handsome horse. His coat was light bay with a white patch at his shoulder and four black stockings from his hooves to his knees. His black mane glowed with health…

by Madelaina
Harsh is this world,
But wild horses keep fighting…

by Westerngirl
Wild horses roaming free
Their land is like a sea…

by IllinoisCowgirl
My herd is my home and my protection
I live in the rolling hills of Colorado…

by Violet Inkpen | The man narrowed his cruel, grey eyes, and watched as a band of mustangs ran, terrified, from the helicopter overhead. The leader, a rust colored stallion, was herding them away from danger, or so he thought. The man’s thin lips split into a wicked grin as the mustangs galloped headlong into the trap the BLM had set for them…

Girls are connected to horses and horses connect girls. Once upon a time, the wild horses of Spring Creek Basin inspired TJ Holmes to start a blog sharing her observations and photos. One winter day, Rochlia stumbled upon TJ’s blog, and fell in love with the mustangs through TJ’s stories and beautiful photos. So when GHC announced March for Wild Horses, it was only natural for Rochlia to connect her GHC herd to TJ and the wild horses of Spring Creek Basin. We invite you come on in, meet TJ, and ask her about the wild horses who inspire our creations and connect us to one another…

by Cassidy
Running mustangs, wild and free
Whose beauty awes all the people who see…

by Sadie Rooke | I awoke with a name in my ears, a tumbling, galloping name. It rolled along a warm breath that left my mother’s lips and ruffled my fluffy mane. “Irreantum,” murmured the mare, nudging her little foal’s head. He was nestled in close beside her in the warm summer grass. The sky stretched above them, soft and violet and edged with storm clouds, but here they were safe; in their little hollow of grass…

by Madelaina
My mesmerism is the way you blaze,
Across a land that surrenders a roar…