Through her many animal narratives, author-illustrator Gianna Marino has explored the emotional landscape of childhood and those first, sometimes tentative steps towards independence. In her latest picture book, I Love You, Little Horse, a loving older horse encourages a pony in its care to “run wild” and spend the day exploring a lush meadow, assuring the young one that “I will always be there.” Speaking with PW from her home, situated east of Durango, Colo., and 7,600 feet up—“It’s a classic Colorado look,” she said with a laugh—Marino discussed the book’s evolution and mentioned being inspired by the landscape around her and Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day,” a poem her late mother cherished. But at the heart of the story is her profound connection to horses.

This is an all-horse cast of characters. What’s the story behind your love for horses?

If I could write a million horse stories, I would.

Because horses are prey animals, they’re aware of every rustle of wind and sound. To be around them makes you more aware. They have this ability to bring you to the present moment. There’s a saying that a horse can hear your heartbeat from 20 feet away. I’ve gotten back into training horses, and it’s a whole different level of being. I’ve learned to let the agenda go and say, “Okay, pony, what do you want to do today?

I started riding as a kid in Golden Gate Park and I was smitten from the first. When I was in high school, I joined the cross-country team because we ran near where horses were ridden, and even though I was incredibly shy, I met a woman at the stables who let me ride her horse during the week. At one point I lived in France for about six months and I was studying French and not getting anywhere, and couldn’t find a job. I was having such a bad time. I went to a stable and somehow communicated that I wanted a job exercising horses. I’d get on the horse and oh my god, I realized we spoke the same language—I finally had this outlet for communication.

You’ve talked in previous interviews about how creating a picture book is a kind of problem solving. What “problem” did you have to solve for this book?

The biggest struggle was in the early stages: how much of the story was going to be questions or suggestions from the elder horse, whether the little foal should have something to say in response. I worked with my editor, Jill Santopolo—this is our third book together—and we went back and forth about this a lot. Ultimately, we wanted it to be that the elder horse was reassuring the little guy that it was okay to go out and live that life. That was probably the most challenging aspect.

I start all my books with tiny, tiny sketches I put into dummies—ridiculously small, between two or three inches at most—so I can alter them, and I don’t get married to an idea. Just these itty-bitty scribbles. I sent this one to Jill and she fell in love with it, and we tweaked as we went along. I’m always amazed when an editor can see what I’m trying to convey, because my sketches are so messy.

The title was really hard for this one. Because I both write and illustrate, I go back forth between the text and images, and the title came pretty far into the process.

How does this book fit into your bookmaking trajectory?

All my books are very personal, and they stem from things I’m excited or scared about. And I’m always interested in the connection between parent and child—both of my parents passed too early for their ages and I was really close to them.

I like to try different styles and perspectives. This book was a joy because it was so lush and full of movement and color. It’s thinned-down gouache on mulberry paper, which gives it a beautiful texture: the way the paper absorbs the paint, there’s so much earthiness in it.

What’s next for you?

When I first moved to Colorado, it was to a very, very remote area with a small community, and it didn’t work out—life just happens as it happens. But it got me thinking that as a child there were a lot of times when I felt left out or not welcome or the oddball. How can I convey this in a story? And of course it’s with animals. There are a group of animals who are coming together because of their likenesses—“We have the same ears, we have the same feet”—and when an outlier comes, they’re like, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” But eventually they start pointing out their differences to each other, and they ultimately realize it’s what on the inside that matters. They really all belong.

I have this weird thing that I don’t want to finish a book unless I have something else to work on. So as I finish, I start jotting down ideas for other books to make sure I don’t lose them.

I Love You, Little Horse by Gianna Marino. Philomel, $18.99 Jan. 14 ISBN 978-0-5935-2880-8