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  • crissimcdonald

They are not mine

Updated: Jan 25



 

​It begins as a trembling in my belly. I can't see them, but a neigh reaches me, flying across the frozen ground. A drumroll of hooves, the snow thrown up by their running, like confetti at a party. What did I do, to earn this kind of excitement? It's not food. There's plenty under the snow. The sun is warm, the creek overflowing. I am theirs, but they are not mine. Those hearts gallop free, and I am a witness to their beauty. If I'm quiet, I can hear their language. If I look, I see that those eyes contain universes of wisdom within them.