The First Time We Saw Horses

The First Time We Saw Horses... more

by Betsy Knapp

Title

The First Time We Saw Horses

Artist

Betsy Knapp

Medium

Digital Art - Digital Creative Render

Description

The First Time We Saw Horses

The first time that we saw horses was a very, very long time ago, but I still remember it like a detailed and well-crafted dream on a warm sunny day.

I’m not sure what those horses thought of us, we just sorta stared at them like they were these new strange incredible creatures, that we just had to sit there and take them in and I’m sure they thought the same thing about us.

They were huge and possessed a kind of restrained-brilliant magical-energy and we offered ourselves to them, just wanting to be close to the magnetic, mystical power that they seemed to hold over us. We threw our apprehensiveness into to the gentle wind and I crouched down on my knees, almost sitting on my hands because I was so nervous. My friend Zayla went belly-first sprawling out in front of the gray one and I took up with the brown one that I know now is called a bay.

We’d only heard of these creatures from our grandmothers’ stories that would captivate us for hours. We’d beg for just one more story before one or the other would drift off into a quiet stupor, just like they were traveling back in time carrying on like the horses were right before them.

The horses have been gone for a long time. There were savage beings that were the product of their own demise and we dared not to breathe a word of what we saw that night with these two perfectly beautiful giants.

We wondered where they hid and how many others may be nearby, and if they had families like we did. We giggled in awe of the thought of seeing a baby, gentle and furry exploring its world for the first time.

Coming to see them during this time became a habit, and we had to keep our adventures to ourselves, making up tall-tales to our mothers’ when they greeted us with stern looks that would make us run and do our chores twice as fast just to lessen the heavy disapproval of being late again for supper.

This was a special time in the forest in a place where the trees opened up and from the rain on the mountain a giant pooling-puddle would form, looking slick as glass and only covering the ground for a short time. When the rain washed down it was like it mixed with a liquid glass, so cool and thick with a hint of spearmint. We’d venture out into it, because it was no secret that it happened, but our families seemed always too busy to see the beauty in a place we held sacred to our hearts. Although it looked like colored glass, it gave like a sponge and was so mysterious to us that we banked every moment like we were some hotshot city-people raking in millions.

We’ve only heard stories of the humans that used to be here. Our life is simple but holds the challenge of taking advantage of every moment and not wasting our time away sitting at these things called computers or yip-yapping on these devices where you can talk to people who aren’t really there.

The pool that we come to visit sprouts mushrooms seemingly within moments of the wave of liquid-spearmint washing over the damp forest floor. Here there are only two trees and we love them dearly like they were our own kin. Sometimes we talk to them wrapping our arms around them, taking both of us to meet the circumference of the girth and we swallow the air that sings to us letting it consume our bodies and then we dance like soft raindrops on the spongy life that we have grown to love.
*Draft End*

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May 17th, 2016

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