Where the Wild Horses Roam

The brumbies of outback Australia graze peacefully on the grassy plains,
they are at ease below a monstrous rocky mountain range that casts dark shadows over the grasslands.
During winter snow falls on the mountain top and creates a fairytale world,
but in times of drought the dirt becomes red and dusty, and food is scarce,
this is the harsh, unforgiving country that the brumbies call home.

It is unlike the brumbies to become unsettled and flighty,
but they could sence something was amiss,
a tree branch snaps, and some horses nervously jump,
something is moving through the scrubland,
Something that will change their lives forever...

Their shadows drift across the cracked ground and dried up creek beds,
Amidst the pounding of hooves a sullen river can be heard hissing,
The grass shifts as kangaroo’s skip into it so they become near invisible,
Even the birds seek shelter in the overgrown scrubland and their chirping subsides,
the whole outback is restless.

The horses seem like ghostly spirits seeking refuge,
but they are never safe,
for they cannot seek refuge in the tree’s, nor the grass,
and because they are the prey that the predator is hunting.

So when the wild horses gallop, they have to use all their cunning and power to outsmart the being that is pursuing them.
Their chaser is not a wild animal, no dog, dingo nor large cat,
it is one of their own but he is ‘shod’.
With a man upon his back, a man with a lasso which swings around with every lunging stride the stock-horse takes.
The rope whirls round trying to take a hold around the horses necks,
it violently hits the horses whose sides are heaving, dripping with sweat,
causing them to shy sideways and crash into one-another in their fear.
They are scared and disoriented, forever wondering why they are being chased.

When the stockman backs off after claiming some members of the herd the wild horses keep on running.
They are far from home now, dehydrated and drenched with white foamy sweat, every powerful muscle in their body aching.

Some mares and foals begin to drop off now, they are tired,
but the fittest horses keep on running with fear flashing through their wild untamed eyes.

When the horses stop they are nearly dead, exhausted they fall to the ground, their aching legs stretched out on the smooth grassy fields. They are reminded of their herd as they lie here, they have been separated, unlikely to re-unite.

However, the captured horses would still be most alike the wild horses that still run free in the dry barren land, at least for today.
They would be dripping with sweat from the fear they experienced, they too would be exhausted, they would fall onto the hard, dusty ground inside the small round yard and lie there thinking...

The only difference between these horses, is the fence that separates the captured from the free.