Gold and his ponies go forth at the end of every summer, looking for those foals whose destinies are in motion, are uncertain, are an embodiment of all possibilities, all things, suspended in the great magical excess which is the end of the growing season. Miracles bloom in the over-fertilized last few weeks of the summer season, and nothing is so full of potential as foals who have not yet found their own futures. Suspended, between past and future. Suspended, before the moment of realization.