The rearing tossing turning heads, bobbing in a sea, of pasture grass and buttercups. A raging river flowing free. A flash of grey, A spot of brown, surging through the storm. Searching, waiting, for the sounds of comfort. Something safe and warm. A shelter from the winter, a shield against the cold. A cool brook in the summer, shady, old, and loved. The solace that will never come to the herd that haunts this place. Never a gentle word, never a kind face. All that exists is the sun, the wind, the rain, and the chaos of the plains
Reason for writing:
i'm a horse-lover...can't help it.
Birth sign: Taurus
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