If every man could have a good brother, who rides a good mule...this world wouldn't need many jails or jailers.
If every man could see the milky way reflected in a high mountain lake or feel the the alpine rain slap his oilskin coat...this world wouldn't bow to many kingdoms or kings.
If every man could feel the coiled power beneath his saddle as thunder echoes from Bally peaks...this world wouldn't cater to many courts or court jesters.
If every man could smell the pine scrubbed air that hides deep in the wilderness with his brother, all of the bureaus with all of their 'crats would become as gentle as spring's lamb.
RIP giant Maggie-Mule. Thanks for being the good mule who carried my good brother to so many of those sacred places with me.