Source of image: Google
The horse came back alone.
No one behind, no one aside.
The shivering grass cried.
Approaching, he shortened his stride
to the falling of croaks and the chirps of the wild,
a symphony like an imperial tide,
a rhythm of waves from a chaos that tried to soften his grief, to accompany his ride.
Stumbling on the sitting stone,
the horse remembered when the master of song made birds go silent,
when nothing would move on their island
while strings of guitar would flutter the air,
while the voice of the master would sing out the prayer.
His soles flew out through the air while love cried in despair.
In circles of echoes his voice traveled around the heart-shaped blue island
while the earth trembled under the quake of its sound.
The horse remained silent.
Only his eye became truly alive when a white pulsating fog appeared.
‘My dearest friend, don’t mourn but enjoy all of life’s givings! Be free and enlighten your heart. Thus you will be with me forever!’
And so, the white horse that came back all alone became the heir of the spirit.
First line Friday by Dylan Hughes: The horse came back alone.