His name was Scotch and he was the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen. Shades of white and grey coated his tall figure and his mane hung over one side of him, rolling down in waves.
It was an early Saturday afternoon and I couldn’t remember the last time I had just stepped outside the door and started walking. So that’s exactly what I did. Long boots and the whole forest ahead of me. Hours might have passed, maybe even days, but in those moments it felt like I was tied to one end of the universe and it was pulling me into it’s core.
It wasn’t long until I stumbled across Scotch, head over a fence in the sunshine, watching as I walked up to him, completely in awe of his beautiful face. I was at the top of hill overlooking the rest of the countryside and scattered over the fields like stars were more horses, gradually getting smaller until it looked like I could hold them in my hand.
I sat next to Scotch for a little while and he stood patiently as I sang to him, songs from the nineties, songs that didn’t exist yet, about tall hills and majestic horses, songs that were mainly just humming and the sounds of the wind. Scotch would even join in every now and then and suddenly it felt like we owned the view below us.
And as the sky began to slip into night, lights flittering on against the horizon, I wondered how many people had those moments, the moments where you put on your boots and your long jacket and head out the door and out into nature, letting the sunlight and the steps of your feet lead the way.
Then I noticed Scotch, tail swaying gently in the summer breeze, overlooking the scenes below with me. He had stood with me for what seemed to be hours and then it occurred to me that maybe he was wondering the same things too.
Me and Scotch, the girl and the stallion, the highest point on the hill.