A FAINT ECHO AT CHRISTMAS …

Arabian horses come into our lives as an apparition of beauty, pleading for understanding, honesty and integrity. We all have a responsibility to lead them in a safe and true direction.

My words below were inspired by Jill Vanstones http://www.jillvanstone.com amazing painting “HISTORY MYSTERY AND MAGIC”. We must strive for more than faint echoes of yesteryear. As we celebrate Christmas we must think of all the creatures in our world who need to be loved, cared for and preserved for future generations.

by Carmel Rowley

A faint echo woke her. ‘Come see my beauty, come ride the moon…’

She was convinced it was a dream. Leaving her bed she tiptoed to the window to listen before pushing  the curtains aside. Moonlight flooded the space. Something was out there, her skin prickled.

Bathed in the silver and blue light of the winter’s night a tide of movement surged as one across the hills and towards the house. Two hundred white horses appeared, etched silver spirits, all high stepping, splendour and grace. They slowed from a gallop to a floating trot shaking their wild tangled manes as they circled and paused. The two in front raised their heads to draw a deep breath exhaling a misty cloud of defiance.

Startled she slid open the window, the freezing night air biting into her face and arms. Hardly daring to breathe she heard the tidings floating on the air. ‘The moon is my sun, the night my protection. If I finish and fade will you weep?’

Their message confused her. Would the longed for horses return? What did it mean?

Over the next weeks she heard nothing. Night after night she lay awake and waited for the faint murmur. The world turned, and as the full moon rose and the beams of light streamed in through her window, at last she heard the echo. ‘Come see my beauty, come ride the moon…’

She rushed to the window, flinging it open eagerly leaning forward to call  a welcome. The words stuck in her throat. She squinted trying to count, there was no need, the numbers were half!  Why have they gone?  Tears streamed down her face and as each droplet splashed to the ground, glinting in the moonlight, the number of horses increased. The echo of understanding reached her ears. ‘I conjure your tears while you capture my beauty. I hand you the reins of my ancestors and plead you to listen. Come see my beauty, come ride the moon…’’

They flowed from the shadows and plunged as one, again two hundred.

Copyright Carmel Rowley