Newly shod horsehoes clink on the shadowed stones leading into the light
The dull roar of the crowd grows in volume as the jockey exits the sanctury within
It is all on the line
The gates lurch shut beind the glowig crimson hide of the mount beneath him
Strenth, power eminate from him
Time stands still.
The dirt track streches endlessly into the distant sunrise
The noise falls away
The only sound to break the barrier Turcotte conjures is Secretariat's beating heart
The immense might of the four legged beast beneath him
He bellows, unsure whether it was him or the creature
Time stands still
Until the horn blares.