double-click the painting · read the story
The wind came down the ridge that year, carrying the smell of grass and sunlight.
It stood at the edge of the open field, its mane blown into a banner. I remember the sea in its eyes—not running toward anything, simply willing to keep moving.
Years later I still return to that afternoon. There are moments in life that a horse has lived for us: untamed, unlooking back, with the horizon as its only compass.
May you too know such a moment.