by June 25, 2024 0 comments

As a child, I would dream I was a horse. Especially on long car journeys.
Black, glossy skin, powerful muscles, hooves pounding the turf
like the sound of rolling thunder. I would gallop across meadows
studded with wild flowers, beneath an azure sky.
No fence could contain me: I would clear them all with ease, to be free.
I belonged to no-one.
Sitting in this chair, constrained, contained. Movements restricted, impeded
by age and disease. I remember that horse; its strength, its beauty, its grace.
And I become it again.
I kick my back legs to loosen the shackles and express my utter joy,
I whinny and toss my head, proud of who I am. Then away I race,
long mane streaming, wind against my face.
No one can stop me. I’m free.

– Jacqueline Erasin

editors note:

When first we free our mind… – mh clay

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