Horses are a gift. Beautiful creatures who roam across the dying Earth. Clip clop, go their hooves. Clip clop. Clip clop. And from their hooves, their legs grow. Fine and strong, muscled and gorgeous. I could stare at such gams all day. Brown, white, black, golden. Golden hairs, golden hearts. Horses are creatures of the day, the holy, silhouetted in front of a golden and bright sunrise, their manes flowing in the wind freely. They are free spirits. No wooden fence can contain these lesser angels.
That is to say, if angels exist. They might, but like everything, we cannot be sure. Nothing in this world is certain, not you, not me, and truth be told, nobody knows for sure if horses even exist. Are they all part of my imagination? The president's imagination? I hope things really do exist, especially horses and ponies. They are so soft, so kind, so powerful, so strong. I'd be a happy possibly-unreal being if they weren't a figment of our minds created from a chip planted in our skulls by the government of a higher species.
Enjoy a Welsh Pony.
How was my blogging? Feel free to comment in response to that question and/or leave a suggestion for what my next topic could be, It can be on horses. It doesn't have to be. Whatever you wish.