Morgan

207 words

After winter round- up, two muddy Morgans moped. Many Morgans resisted, two twin fillies buckled under firm insistence. One was led to a warm, clean stall. The other, near the outside wall. Through the open window, fragrant air they shared.

The outside horse was, kicking like a bronco, hoping to declare, “I am wild. I am Free. Don’t you dare come near to me.”

The inside horse is washed with care. Gentle strokes brushed through her tangled, matted hair.
Her hoofs were treated with healing herbs. And loving hands massaged her curves. Whispers, softly spoken touched into her soul, a friendship never known before was now, proposed.

So, then a melody happened. A calm, charming song, filled the evening air, mesmerizing the one outside. She just stood there and stared.

“Look at you, “the wild one taunts. You are all fu- fu- ed up, your hair in knots. Where is the filly that went in there?”

“I know,” she snickered, “They are called braids and I kind of like 'em. I’ve strayed so far from normal now, I ‘ll never find my way back. And the truth is I no longer want to.” She said, while nibbling grain. “You should come in, too, out of the rain.”