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Friday, April 15, 2005A Story
I imagine I'm on a quiet farm, surrounded by rolling hills of green.
I had a horse, once. He was a stallion and we would go for long runs among the hills. I felt safe with him. He would carry me through Life, no matter what the circumstance. He was part of me.
My stallion was a free spirit - one that could never be tied down. He stayed in my corral for a while, but when the wind would blow, he would look off into the distance. One morning, he was gone. The sky turned overcast and the wind blew through my very soul.
Days, then months, passed. My stallion never returned "home." Work around the farm kept me busy. The daily routine of living, day in and day out, took over. I became my own work-horse. But every now and then, I would look toward the hills, wondering if he was out there and if I would ever get to ride again. Sometimes I would stand in the corral, leaning on the fence post, looking out over the hills and I would imagine him standing there.
Then, on an ordinary afternoon, he was there. He was watching me from a distance. He had come to say hello to an old friend. But as quickly as he would return, he would be gone again. He still comes around, just to check in on me and to see that I'm still moving on with Life. I am. I do. I must.
My nomad of a horse is still wandering these hills, running free and moving where the wind takes him. I miss him; but would never dream of locking him up in a corral. He belongs to nobody but himself. I love him for that.