nature walks and wild horses

 

My {same} grandparents owned a different farm with horses when I was growing up. Walking the woods, discovering tadpoles and eating the oats out of the barn is where I felt the most alive, full of wonder and revelation as a child. I dreamed of riding those graceful beasts and galloping through the forrest.

My uncle Matthew took me on my first ride, no saddle, no protection- and he told me just to grab onto the mane. I can still remember the feeling of rough, thick textured strands in my hands and the fear and awe of running through the pasture on a wild stallion. My aunt Voneda later showed me really how to ride, how to care for the horses and that it was ok if I wanted to taste their feed. I loved to scrape out their hooves but was always so afraid of hurting them.

My aunt Voneda had long, straight dark hair. She was always so beautiful to me and sometimes I felt like her daughter riding the horses and petting their noses.

Voneda passed away several years ago, but left her last, beautiful show-horse to roam in the mountains at my grandparents. And every time I get near any horse, but especially Lacey, I feel like they know me. Not because I've been around them, but because their mystery is so intuitive and strange I feel like in front of them they see the child in me- that dreamed of having long, flowing hair and galloping in the chill of the air; free and wild.

So even if I'm uptight, or dressed differently, or bitter about life, I feel like they know- the horses know, deep inside the wild stallion that kicks and neighs.

That little beauty, holding her tiny hands up to pet the horse, is Voneda's granddaughter- my 2nd cousin, Leighton, and even though she never met her grandmother, I feel like when I'm around Lacey, Voneda is somewhere close by.