Painted by Gods

         The air was crisp and foggy clouds hung low, waiting to unveil the world. I approached with shivering hands; my numbed fingers sought the warmth of his skin. A slick coat covered the raw strength of sinewy muscles and tree trunk bones. His barrel chest rose and fell, slowly, soothingly, as small misty breaths tufted from his wide nostrils. The downy fuzz of his chin was my favorite – just how velvety soft it was, and the way he wrinkled his lips with familiarity every time I touched him. This was no beast. This was life, purity, strength, love somehow encompassed in this single living thing and oh, how I envied him for it.
         Remembering now, how many times had he acted as my escape, my time machine? As we rode through the fog that caressed the Colorado foothills, we leapt space and time, to another world. I couldn’t ever remember feeling more free than during those long trail rides through the great, wide open. He brought me back to the times when my family was one of dark skin and almond eyes, of leather hides and feather mantles, a people of the woodlands. He brought me to a place where his brown and white coat was thought to have been painted by the Father in the sky Himself, and I certainly was not one to contradict that belief. He was my truest friend, and my most prized possession. Though, with my hands caught up in his coarse mane, while his pointed ears flickered back and forth at the sound of my own breathing, I knew he was just as much my master as I was his. He was son of the River, cousin to the fields, and King of the winds. Who was I to call him my own?
         He stole me away from the cares of this world. When I hardly had the strength to stand, he carried me. When I was weary of this life, he’d bring me a new one. When I was tired of responsibility, he knew to lead and was perfectly fine with me following. It seemed that no amount of carrot treats or extra oats would repay him for the peace he had given me. I felt secure, yet wild all the same, during those times with him. I recall wondering, on more than one occasion, if I was perhaps born into the wrong era. Looking back, I think I was meant to have that sort of adventure in my life – just my horse and I, running free. His sturdy hooves promised with their steady, rhythmic beat to never lead me off course…And if by chance they strayed, well, we were all the better for it.
         Then, the cares of this world stole him away from me. “Time and money,” they said, “time and money.” Thinking back on it now, how odd it is that the two things that meant the least to me would steal away the one thing that meant the most. But as I said goodbye, my fingers strayed once more to that velvet muzzle. His long face pressed gently against my shoulder, and we stood, we breathed, and I sensed the sadness welling up inside of me. With a glance that held infinite wisdom, his soft brown eyes told my very soul that he would take a piece of my heart with him when he left, but not to fret, for it would be safe with him. I knew I could trust those sturdy hooves always. Through the sadness and loss, the look in his eyes comforted me. He had given me so much, and I thank him for that. With that one silent look, I knew he would meet me again in another time, another place, another world. We would reign together, the son and daughter of the earth. And there, finally there, we would be free.