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Horses Wild

  • Writer: jeffmcm
    jeffmcm
  • 3 days ago
  • 2 min read

A running horse suddenly appears, cresting the incline bordering the road. As I brake, four more horses join, the solo venture now a small stampede. It’s arresting and exciting; large beautiful animals uncorralled and uncontrolled, an improvisation of animal impulse. It’s also frightening, as they careen towards blind curves and hills on this rural highway leading to Hudson, NY. They canter, they walk then gallop, paying no attention to humans moved by motors instead of this animal joy in sudden physical freedom. Where did these beautiful beasts come from, who is responsible and what do we do now? The brief chaos is thrilling. I am caught between pleasure and alarm, wanting to simply wait and witness and yet feeling we should “do something.” I call 911. In the midst of my attempts to clarify location, the dispatcher interjects, “you are calling about the loose horses?” We humans immobile in our cars slow to a crawl as the pace of the five horses on the road determines our progress. Drivers approaching from the opposing lane stop as the horses advance; mechanical horsepower halted by the real thing. Humans may own the highway but the animals are running it at the moment. Sure, we are in a hurry, but so are these horses, they just don’t know to where. One pulls to the right, off the road, then decides against it as the pack undulates onto the entire width of the road. The road curves and they continue straight, declining onto the gentle hill, and we pass, transformed.

 

I have experienced, in rural England, being swarmed by sheep, but the enormousness and grandeur of un-shepherded horses erases such quaintness. Briefly held, we were made to witness and allow for their capriciousness, their lack of dedication to the paved pathways engraved over their fields. I thought, rather obviously, of the song “Wild Horses” but these were not wild, simply free for a moment. We knew that; did they?

 

Growing up in a hilly suburb of Los Angeles, I fell off a friend’s horse after he gave the order to “canter!” and have since no desire to climb back on, cliché or no. I admire horses from afar as creatures of evocative beauty, grace and mystery. I don’t wish to saddle or secure them. Peter Shaffer’s 1973 play Equus shocked me only slightly; of course these animals would inspire complicated feelings. Beauty and power often do.  

 
 
 

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