Wild Rock

This poem is regarding my horse. Yes I had a horse. A long time ago. His name was Wild Rock. He was my apple baby. He used to be wild. I tamed him myself. With help from my trainer of course. Okay, I tried. He never WAS tame in the end... Wild Rock was poisoned in the end. With 162 other horses.

I look into his eyes, surmise. He

summons me closer to him with a kind

of longing in his stare. As I step closer,

I expect my heart to be racing – either

With fear or excitement – but it’s not.

I’m as calm as a summer’s breeze.

Walking slowly, I reach out my hand

and I touch him. I feel his muscles

relaxing under my hand. He’s at peace

with my presence. Suddenly he

nudges me, softly at first, to touch and

caress him. Then he turns persistent,

pulling on the reigns I’m holding in my

hand.

I give him his apple and silently slip it

over his head and fasten the buckle.

Quickly, and without hesitation, I get on

his bare back. He doesn’t fight me, but

helps me to get on by bowing low. Is

this for real?

As the first person in ages to come

close to this ‘wild creature’, I have an

audience of onlookers. Standing still,

finding our feet together, I talk to him

softly. Slowly, he starts walking, then

trotting, and as one, we gallop away,

leaving everyone and everything

behind.

We understand each others wild streak

and calmness. And finally – we’re

together again.

Author: Maryke Pretorius