We’ve all heard The Rolling Stones,
But who has ever listened to the wild horses?
What do they have to say?
My friend knows.
Every day before school he would get up and give his family’s horses their bales of hay, moving pounds and pounds of it before first period.
Then, after school, he would return and feed them more.
He would brush them and walk them around his property for exercise.
He would clean feces from their stables, and do anything they might ask.
He used to ride, but not anymore. Instead, he lets them roam.
They move around his property like ghosts of nature,
Silent, large creatures with more power and will than I will ever know.
They might not speak, but you can tell in their large eyes they know something that we don’t.
We used to drink with them.
We would pack up camping supplies and stolen liquor into a truck, ride it down deep into his property, where we would make base camp, and drink with the horses.
They would be next to us, next to the fire, but not react.
They were more powerful, more knowledgeable than us.
I would look at my friend, but he would never be looking back. He would be looking at the horses, those animals that he cared day in and day out for.
When another one of us was kicked by his horse, he didn’t get angry. He understood the horses better than anyone.
He would stare at the horses as they moved around us.
He would be wild and loud, moving faster and stronger than any of us.
He had long, flowing hair that went down to his shoulders, and never could follow a simple direction.
He was a free spirit, wishing to roam like they did. He envied the horses.
Sometimes I wonder if his parents knew we were down there.
I mean, they had to, with how loud and rambunctious we were.
But they didn’t care,
They let us be free.