Stampeding through the town were a group of maybe 50 or so horses escaped from a breeding ground. Two little Mexicans followed but were far behind. A huge black stallion was running point blood dripping from it’s eye, screaming at the sun.
It was close to dawn, around the Ike where the sun begins to rise and there is a slight fog, when in the distance I saw wild horses grazing. It must have been one if the most beautiful and peaceful sights I have ever seen. Nothing is as majestic and truly honest as a wild horse. It’s coat shone in the light, It shook it’s hea causig it’s mane to fly up, and the galloped up the far hill, disappearing into the sunrise.
Horses were grand creatures. Exemplifying beauty and grace and power and stamina and a fierce, swift determination and courage and spirit fierce and strong, seeking strength in knowledge and numbers and… There really is a limit as to how much I can talk of horses.
Galloping. Yellow flowers fly through the air like bright fireflies, chasing the horses through the cold Vermont wind. Sitting on the mountaintop from the small stone house that you like to watch from your room and wonder who lives there. I am here, riding my horse through the woods, finding my way back.
We gallop across the distance. We start with a soft trot with slow pace, we take into account our surrounds. The rhythm increase and we start to feel the speed, the exhilarated feeling of muscles moving and rubbing against us. The Speed increase and all we can see and feel is the sensation of the joy exploding from me to you. The every glorious rush of adrenaline pumping through our veins as we live the moment, like so many beautiful times past. When we stop and rest after our immense gallop. Love, only love is felt. We drink each-others stillness and watch the world turn a bit more.
free. fell the pounding in your heart as you’re running with them. wild. untamed. the world fades to dust behind you as leave all worries behind. no pain. no sorrow. no memories. just the dirt, bushes, and trees that fly past as you think for a moment, you’re free.
The horses ran swiftly over the flowing green fields. Their legs stretching and devouring the ground, hungry and searching for more after every leap. Their manes streamed out behind them, banners glinting in the early golden sunlight.
I can’t help but imagine,
How free and limitless these creatures are,
As they jump hills as if they were clouds to watch,
Abundant and moving like a hummingbird,
They can never be still,
And loyal they are,
Never betray,
For they remember to say when they can no longer go,
So a stop could save the trip.
Two black horses appear in the distance. Seen from far off, they seem to be dancing. They dance to the beat of one another’s hooves, and to the harmony of the wind and the nearby stream.
slave to our dreams and masters of our doom, forward and forward, find the strength, push it up, fight the world, but where was I going? Is it worth it? Did I…WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?
They run and play in the frosty grass. In the fields, they pull all the strength from the life around them and expel it in one glorious motion of joy, kicking up their heels and nipping playfully at each other.
Horses are the coolest animals. They remind me of Satguru Ram Singh ji who will come on a white horse one day trolling through the woods. All namdharis are waiting for that white horse. There was one man in Bhaini Sahib who was dreaming and like standing somewhere. He was quiet and with a gush of wind a horse came along and it was Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s horse.
I’d always wondered what it would feel like to thunder along at such an incredible speed, like a herd of wild horses on the run. Now I knew.
I wasn’t a horse, I was something different; but I’m sure that that’s exactly what it would have felt like to be one.
They flew through the fields, manes wooshing in their trails. The sound of their hooves could be heard through the forests and mountains. Each call a beauty unto its own.
Fuck, wow really? Horses. Today is thanksgiving and we’re writing about horses? Well alright. Once I rode a horse in Ireland. That was nice. All I can think about though is my parents marriage falling apart because my dad is gay. All I can think about is being single forever and not being loved. I just want to sleep my days away and maybe go to a farm. Horses are nice.
Horses are just like my step mother. They are Whores. Hore-ses they are like my step mom because they are huge and never stop eating :) That’s all I have to say and I still have 20 seconds left :)
One day we saw a mini horse in our neighbors’ backyard. You see, the girl next door rode ponies, and they would come and go just as she did. Sometimes there would be a farm next door, and we would watch from the side window and jump at each unexpected neigh. Other times, we’d see the cars pull out of the driveway. They came back in a week, or a month. The girl who rode ponies was not always here; she was not always anywhere. She was only always where the horses were; where the horses were was home.
I used to love horses, and that is no exageration. I would have loved to own one, my cousins do, those lucky buggers. When I look at a horse Jumping, I see something strong, majestic, and beautiful. I can’t say much more than that. I simply Loved horses.. Back then.
She didn’t understand what the big deal was about the horses, anyway. Her entire family was fixated on them, but honestly she never saw the appeal of the big, smelly, cranky beasts.
The first time she had tried to ride a horse, the saddle slid sideways off the horse, causing her to make an undignified fall right into a fresh pile of dung.
they can be brown white black and when they are little they are called ponies. They poop Alot. And they disgust me. They like to jump and race other horses. They have big penises and they smell nasty
the inside of the carriage is dark; through the cloaked windows only a sliver light can push its way through. i lift a hand up to my cheek to find it wet. Alten sits right beside me, but i feel miles away. Images run through my head: Alten scooting towards me, warming my arms, face, lips. Or at least opening his mouth to say something; though i cannot dare hope for an apology. Instead, he stares out his window, silent, and i echo him exactly; the horses clip-clop on, pulling the carriage, obvilious to the noiseless war waging inside.
All the pretty horses, running in a loop. All the pretty colours, blurring. All the happy drinkers drinking happy goon. Everybody clap. And a horse falls down.
Without a care in the world, I wish I could just run across the plains. I won’t throw caution to the winds because secretly, I want to fall. Let me lose control, just this once. Take my caring, take my caution, take my love, and give it all to the wind.
Horses carried him to his death, out across the plains towards the lances and the arrows. Tied in tightly to the saddle, hands bound behind him, blindfold over his eyes.
Horses carried him to his death, or maybe just one. One among the horses in the herd, a song of hooves, pounding the earth, like blood rushing through your head.
it’s wild like the horses out in those western states i’ve never been too wild like the flowers that grow in places no one has ever stepped or even seen wild like the wind in a place without trees or barriers our love is wild.
I wish that my purple coat was not out and about on the town. There is a pecan pie which I just baked and it is filled with love in fact I think it may be too overwhelming with love for any human to handle. It is a damn good thing that I am an alien because this pie smells of cinammon and honey.
Stampeding through the town were a group of maybe 50 or so horses escaped from a breeding ground. Two little Mexicans followed but were far behind. A huge black stallion was running point blood dripping from it’s eye, screaming at the sun.
When was was 5, I thought I wouldn’t get married. I just wanted horses. Then a horse threw me and I figured boys weren’t all that bad.
So how much do equestrians actually make?
Fast, beautiful, majestic. Strong as the seas and fast as the wind.
Graceful as the stars.
ride a horse, escape of just travel, just enjoy being there in that moment, see the light going through the scence and the beuty of nature
Wild and untamed.
Domestic and compliant.
Beautiful and vicious.
Lethal and loving.
The curse of the horse.
It was close to dawn, around the Ike where the sun begins to rise and there is a slight fog, when in the distance I saw wild horses grazing. It must have been one if the most beautiful and peaceful sights I have ever seen. Nothing is as majestic and truly honest as a wild horse. It’s coat shone in the light, It shook it’s hea causig it’s mane to fly up, and the galloped up the far hill, disappearing into the sunrise.
free wild breathing beautiful time in the moment content
Horses were grand creatures. Exemplifying beauty and grace and power and stamina and a fierce, swift determination and courage and spirit fierce and strong, seeking strength in knowledge and numbers and… There really is a limit as to how much I can talk of horses.
Galloping. Yellow flowers fly through the air like bright fireflies, chasing the horses through the cold Vermont wind. Sitting on the mountaintop from the small stone house that you like to watch from your room and wonder who lives there. I am here, riding my horse through the woods, finding my way back.
We gallop across the distance. We start with a soft trot with slow pace, we take into account our surrounds. The rhythm increase and we start to feel the speed, the exhilarated feeling of muscles moving and rubbing against us. The Speed increase and all we can see and feel is the sensation of the joy exploding from me to you. The every glorious rush of adrenaline pumping through our veins as we live the moment, like so many beautiful times past. When we stop and rest after our immense gallop. Love, only love is felt. We drink each-others stillness and watch the world turn a bit more.
free. fell the pounding in your heart as you’re running with them. wild. untamed. the world fades to dust behind you as leave all worries behind. no pain. no sorrow. no memories. just the dirt, bushes, and trees that fly past as you think for a moment, you’re free.
I think it would be the most normal thing to say “I love horses” but I will not say that here in the very few seconds I have left. But…………
The horses ran swiftly over the flowing green fields. Their legs stretching and devouring the ground, hungry and searching for more after every leap. Their manes streamed out behind them, banners glinting in the early golden sunlight.
The horses are coming, the dog days are over, can you hear the horses coming?…..No. But I hear the demons coming XD
I can’t help but imagine,
How free and limitless these creatures are,
As they jump hills as if they were clouds to watch,
Abundant and moving like a hummingbird,
They can never be still,
And loyal they are,
Never betray,
For they remember to say when they can no longer go,
So a stop could save the trip.
Two black horses appear in the distance. Seen from far off, they seem to be dancing. They dance to the beat of one another’s hooves, and to the harmony of the wind and the nearby stream.
slave to our dreams and masters of our doom, forward and forward, find the strength, push it up, fight the world, but where was I going? Is it worth it? Did I…WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING?
They run and play in the frosty grass. In the fields, they pull all the strength from the life around them and expel it in one glorious motion of joy, kicking up their heels and nipping playfully at each other.
Horses are the coolest animals. They remind me of Satguru Ram Singh ji who will come on a white horse one day trolling through the woods. All namdharis are waiting for that white horse. There was one man in Bhaini Sahib who was dreaming and like standing somewhere. He was quiet and with a gush of wind a horse came along and it was Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s horse.
The sweaty, muscular animal heaved as it tried to catch its breath. A bright sheen of sweat covered its golden brown coat.
I’d always wondered what it would feel like to thunder along at such an incredible speed, like a herd of wild horses on the run. Now I knew.
I wasn’t a horse, I was something different; but I’m sure that that’s exactly what it would have felt like to be one.
They flew through the fields, manes wooshing in their trails. The sound of their hooves could be heard through the forests and mountains. Each call a beauty unto its own.
ummmm…..Their animals. A four legged creature… i don’t like this word.
Fuck, wow really? Horses. Today is thanksgiving and we’re writing about horses? Well alright. Once I rode a horse in Ireland. That was nice. All I can think about though is my parents marriage falling apart because my dad is gay. All I can think about is being single forever and not being loved. I just want to sleep my days away and maybe go to a farm. Horses are nice.
Horses are just like my step mother. They are Whores. Hore-ses they are like my step mom because they are huge and never stop eating :) That’s all I have to say and I still have 20 seconds left :)
The horses ran to get Cinderella to the ball. Without them there would be no happily ever after.
I HATE PSN I HATE PSN RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE RAGE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH [idaoy[soidayhfa
One day we saw a mini horse in our neighbors’ backyard. You see, the girl next door rode ponies, and they would come and go just as she did. Sometimes there would be a farm next door, and we would watch from the side window and jump at each unexpected neigh. Other times, we’d see the cars pull out of the driveway. They came back in a week, or a month. The girl who rode ponies was not always here; she was not always anywhere. She was only always where the horses were; where the horses were was home.
I used to love horses, and that is no exageration. I would have loved to own one, my cousins do, those lucky buggers. When I look at a horse Jumping, I see something strong, majestic, and beautiful. I can’t say much more than that. I simply Loved horses.. Back then.
She didn’t understand what the big deal was about the horses, anyway. Her entire family was fixated on them, but honestly she never saw the appeal of the big, smelly, cranky beasts.
The first time she had tried to ride a horse, the saddle slid sideways off the horse, causing her to make an undignified fall right into a fresh pile of dung.
they can be brown white black and when they are little they are called ponies. They poop Alot. And they disgust me. They like to jump and race other horses. They have big penises and they smell nasty
the inside of the carriage is dark; through the cloaked windows only a sliver light can push its way through. i lift a hand up to my cheek to find it wet. Alten sits right beside me, but i feel miles away. Images run through my head: Alten scooting towards me, warming my arms, face, lips. Or at least opening his mouth to say something; though i cannot dare hope for an apology. Instead, he stares out his window, silent, and i echo him exactly; the horses clip-clop on, pulling the carriage, obvilious to the noiseless war waging inside.
All the pretty horses, running in a loop. All the pretty colours, blurring. All the happy drinkers drinking happy goon. Everybody clap. And a horse falls down.
Horses are beautiful.
i love horses so much! i have 4 of them at my house and they are just amazing.. they are very beautiful animals and i am so glad to have them!
Without a care in the world, I wish I could just run across the plains. I won’t throw caution to the winds because secretly, I want to fall. Let me lose control, just this once. Take my caring, take my caution, take my love, and give it all to the wind.
Horses carried him to his death, out across the plains towards the lances and the arrows. Tied in tightly to the saddle, hands bound behind him, blindfold over his eyes.
Horses carried him to his death, or maybe just one. One among the horses in the herd, a song of hooves, pounding the earth, like blood rushing through your head.
it’s wild like the horses out in those western states i’ve never been too wild like the flowers that grow in places no one has ever stepped or even seen wild like the wind in a place without trees or barriers our love is wild.
I wish that my purple coat was not out and about on the town. There is a pecan pie which I just baked and it is filled with love in fact I think it may be too overwhelming with love for any human to handle. It is a damn good thing that I am an alien because this pie smells of cinammon and honey.