Morning Musings

It's wet, windy. Dark. The dawn is just starting to break through, and vague shadows appear in the landscape. The horses are grazing peacefully in the valley, each busily eating out it's own, carefully selected patch of grass. Unnoticed, a figure appears on the ridge, watches them, barely able to make out their shapes in the hazy light.

Suddenly, a voice pierces the air. One of the horses looks up. She knows this voice. She notices the lonely figure on the ridge - too small for a tree, too big for a fox. She flares her nostrils, and trots on. The other horses look at her, then search for the source of the voice. In a matter of seconds the herd is together, and galloping up towards the ridge.

Near the top they ease their pace. The ridge is sparse with trees. The horses spread out, and form a front - each one passing between two trees. For a moment, it looks like their numbers double. Their approach is frightening, imposing. In awe, I stand my ground.

The moment passes, and I turn to lead them towards the hay. They see it now, and trot on. For a short, unforgettable pause in time, I am part of the herd. I feel their heat, I hear their breathing, I understand their longing to always be together. As they overtake gently, I grab the one I am looking for. The dawn light wins the battle of the shadows. Night retreats. Day breaks.