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I was a Wordsworthian child ... tromping the woods and fields, trailing clouds of glory as I went. The world just seemed to sparkle with an enchanted sheen twinking from the back side of every solid surface. A little tuft of moss was a fairy dance floor at night, and every hollow tree held a doorway to some mysterious world beckoning from beyond my imagination. So I would escape into the dark arms of the forest, leaving behind the chaos and bitter undercurrents that regularly shook my foundations.
My dog and I would walk for hours getting lost in the mystery of thick-tendrilled grapevines and deep ponds of invisible croaking frogs, but it was the lure of dangerous slithering monsters and blood hungry bobcats that kept the adventure ripe. All the grown-ups tried to frighten me with possibilities of disaster and deadly consequences ... and my Granny whooped the shit out of me once ... but it was just that very threat that fed my curiosity. I wanted to see what was there ... there beyond the relative safety of homestead boundaries.
So me and my Spotty Dog would walk ...
One day while on an adventure, we heard a thundering noise that shook the ground and energized the very air. I looked around to find the direction of origin, when suddenly out of the trees, a herd of galloping horses came stampeding towards us. We both ran as fast as we could go, trying to avoid those wild pounding hoofs. I turned to the left and ran parallel to the sound while my dog took to the right. And I ran with my chest pumbing sparks of liquid fire with nerves dancing on a razor's edge, but I couldn’t breath and they were soon well past me. But that little dog ... he just kept on going, running in their wake and nipping at their dust. I was so envious of his lack of fear and wire-boned stamina that I burst into tears for my feeble human body. And I just stood there crying as they disappeared from sight ...
I wanted so bad to run with those horses.
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