A funny thing has been happening this week.
In the middle of something completely banal – flossing my teeth, stamping an envelope, tying my shoe, a memory from the recesses of my brain pops out like a pink candy buried deep in a giant glass gumball machine. I am then completely transported to that time and place – so much so that it seems that I’m in the middle of a waking dream.
My knees are dusty and shredded. They hurt from kneeling in the dry, prickly grass while I attempt to fix my camera. I want to catch the horses – the wild horses of the Camargue – and not only are they no where to be seen, but my camera has chosen this inopportune moment to give up the ghost. The late afternoon sun is drenching my back as I bend over the useless equipment and brush off the dust.
Rage. Tears of frustration. My companion stalks off in a huff, fed up and wanting flamingos. I am wanting horses. I have come here for horses. But there is nothing but grass and marsh and horizon ahead of me and I am now alone, kneeling on my broken knees holding my broken camera.
There is a slight tug at my ponytail. Instinctively, I slap with my hand, my palm landing squarely on a firm, warm muzzle. A wild horse is nibbling the sun bleached strands of my hair, thinking they are something good to eat. His friends approach silently from behind, greedy for a treat. Before long, I am surrounded by five white horses, each dainty, velvety muzzle sniffing and chewing and considering my hair. They are so close I feel their breath on my forehead and smell their warm, gamey scent. I sit perfectly still, heart thumping, spirit expanding, wishing with all my might it would never end.
One of the most perfect moments of my life. Returned to me after so many years. I'm so happy to have it back.
Who needs a camera?
Photograph from here with thanks.