By David J. Wing
He rode over the sand and felt the breeze pass over his cheeks and through his mane. The wind whipped and whirled into a frenzy, but barely did he notice.
The sky—a hue of green and blue, lashed the beach with light and care, while the sea’s lips dampened the land.
A song could be heard as the waves met—a calming, loving ache, as if to lull a male, a female, or a child to sleep and capture for the depths.
His four hooves battered and tore the ground, freeing it to fly on a wisp.
The horizon ran further away, never stopping no matter how he pursued. His small friend—also four footed, tore along, desperate to catch him and play—calling with a rough joy.
The hills—as if pawns, guarded the mountains beyond and watched over the motionless mills.
The houses, now empty, empty for centuries, struggled to stand and often met the ocean with a crash. Their driveway colleagues broke apart and provided homes for vegetation.
With an opportune break, the water dozed and the two followed suit. Sitting there, watching the elements, languid, they panted and thought of their lives, their loves and of their friendship.
The others would be along shortly, but for now, for here, they were free to think, to feel, to run and to simply be. Be happy, be …