In west Baltimore, on a street of vacant, devastated houses, there’s a stable in an old industrial building - the only functional building on the block.
Every morning the owner takes his horses, one by one, to an empty field across from the stable, where he tethers them to rope lines strung from the trees. There they graze, away from the garbage, the ruined houses, and the endless group of people who hang out all day and late into the night.
Sometimes people stop, lean against the fence, and watch the horses. It’s a little bit of magic in a part of the city that desperately needs it.