What We Do With Freedom.
May. 15th, 2009 09:40 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writers_loftI stared into her eyes in absolute amazement, heat radiating from the her center as the sun beat down on the brown shades which blended, flooded, and raged across her contours. Stepping on a piece of dry grass, I doublechecked my footing, afraid to see her go at the sudden movement. Her tender eyes made me feel as if I had been standing in this same spot with her for the past hundred days.
"You're beautiful." I whispered, stroking the bone just below her ear.
It was like staring at a sprite or a muse or demi-god. She was real. She was connected to the Earth and she bore the marks of mud and drying winds but at the same time she was Pegasus. She had the soul of Florence Nightingale and the fierceness of a wild stallion on a heated horizon.
"You're beautiful." I said.
Imagine it. Imagine, in this world full of charts and maps and degrees, the dissection of every forest and possible wilderness by man, there still being something so wild and true to its form. A creature so tame in heart but free physically with no binding or fences or corrals. This, this was a horse.
As I stroked the fiery chestnut mane which danced from her ears down to sculpted back, I began to feel entranced. With each tug, I held on longer. With each grip, my fingers held tighter. Still staring patiently at me, she shook her mane but there was no fly. She did not step back and I averted my greedy gaze. She was beautiful, that was for sure. Like a little boy who has seen his first pony, I wanted to keep her. Oh to think if I had a horse like that.
I patted her jaw and turned on my heels, walking away. Imagine being something so free. Imagine man leaving it alone. Imagine it being able to escape man's grasp and the forever growing web of highways. Imagine it escaping me.
As I turned to allow one more parting glance to the girl, I half-expected her not to be there, for her to be some middle of the afternoon dream I was having. But she was there, long lashes curtaining those watchful eyes which followed me. Then I saw there was something in the distance, a man on a horse with a rope in one hand on a shotgun at his hip. He was riding toward her like a pioneer into the wilderness. And that was how I knew it was not a dream.
"You're beautiful." I whispered, stroking the bone just below her ear.
It was like staring at a sprite or a muse or demi-god. She was real. She was connected to the Earth and she bore the marks of mud and drying winds but at the same time she was Pegasus. She had the soul of Florence Nightingale and the fierceness of a wild stallion on a heated horizon.
"You're beautiful." I said.
Imagine it. Imagine, in this world full of charts and maps and degrees, the dissection of every forest and possible wilderness by man, there still being something so wild and true to its form. A creature so tame in heart but free physically with no binding or fences or corrals. This, this was a horse.
As I stroked the fiery chestnut mane which danced from her ears down to sculpted back, I began to feel entranced. With each tug, I held on longer. With each grip, my fingers held tighter. Still staring patiently at me, she shook her mane but there was no fly. She did not step back and I averted my greedy gaze. She was beautiful, that was for sure. Like a little boy who has seen his first pony, I wanted to keep her. Oh to think if I had a horse like that.
I patted her jaw and turned on my heels, walking away. Imagine being something so free. Imagine man leaving it alone. Imagine it being able to escape man's grasp and the forever growing web of highways. Imagine it escaping me.
As I turned to allow one more parting glance to the girl, I half-expected her not to be there, for her to be some middle of the afternoon dream I was having. But she was there, long lashes curtaining those watchful eyes which followed me. Then I saw there was something in the distance, a man on a horse with a rope in one hand on a shotgun at his hip. He was riding toward her like a pioneer into the wilderness. And that was how I knew it was not a dream.
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