Post by SigOUrNeY on Mar 20, 2008 20:52:38 GMT -5
A silky muzzle blew warm air into the misty morning, and a silver charger stepped out daintily onto the dewy grass. The elegant filly looked as though she were walking through a forest of pallid light; a dove white pelt dappled with steel gray silver was like a cape across her back, and a mask down her dished face. The thoroughbred eased into trot as fluid as pouring water, her well toned muscles stretching and rippling under her new spring coat. The long, wispy tail that fanned out behind her was the color of white gold, and her silken mane that waterfalled down her neck the color of mottled iron. She seemed to move in complete silence, like a phantom, winding in and out of the heavy fog as though she were merely a mirage – a figment of one’s imagination that existed only in wishful dreams. And yet she wasn’t. She was perfect, and she was real.
Sweet Silence picked up her knees until she had glided into a canter, and then in a perfect stride extended herself into a gallop. The racehorse lowered her head as she round the far corner of her pasture, and arched her neck in imperialism. Raising her tail high above her back, the filly extended herself and stretched her head forward into the crisp air. The fresh wind was captured by her nostrils, and her dark liquid eyes shone with excitement. With the freedom in her pasture, she was completely without restraint, and able to do what brought her endless bliss – run.
The next corner came up quickly, and Sweet Silence laid down on her haunches and skidded around it, bucking and crow hopping as she came away from it. The sleek thoroughbred was flawless in her play, and planned every step she took. Nothing was to stop, her – nothing could. She was free in her joy, and her only audience was the nature surrounding the pasture. The morning birds were silent in their song, and everything held silent to the noise of frolicking hooves. They held silent for the very sweetness of it.
Sweet Silence picked up her knees until she had glided into a canter, and then in a perfect stride extended herself into a gallop. The racehorse lowered her head as she round the far corner of her pasture, and arched her neck in imperialism. Raising her tail high above her back, the filly extended herself and stretched her head forward into the crisp air. The fresh wind was captured by her nostrils, and her dark liquid eyes shone with excitement. With the freedom in her pasture, she was completely without restraint, and able to do what brought her endless bliss – run.
The next corner came up quickly, and Sweet Silence laid down on her haunches and skidded around it, bucking and crow hopping as she came away from it. The sleek thoroughbred was flawless in her play, and planned every step she took. Nothing was to stop, her – nothing could. She was free in her joy, and her only audience was the nature surrounding the pasture. The morning birds were silent in their song, and everything held silent to the noise of frolicking hooves. They held silent for the very sweetness of it.