We are storied folk
Sanskrit read to a pony

As if by magic

Tilly's morning surprise:

As dawn breaks over the village, Tilly and I follow the path to a neighbor's field, where we find a herd of wild ponies who have strayed down from the moor.

Dartmoor ponies grazing in a neighbors field...

...as the sun rises over the moor and the village church bells ring the hour.

We know this particular herd, which often grazes on the village Commons (where I can see them from my studio windows as I work), but Tilly and I are both surprised to find them here, shaggy little phantoms in the misty morning light. 

Tilly prowls among them, but knows to keep her distance...

As we cross the field, Tilly is curious but well trained. She keeps her distance, and they pay her no mind. As for me, they are gentle, affable, and patient as I walk among, camera in hand.

...and the ponies ignore her, grazing placidly.

Their long-lashed eyes are dark and deep...

...their noses soft and their pelts winter thick.

These two nuzzled, cuddled, and groomed each other...

When I first lived in the village, on Lower Street, I would sometimes hear the unshod hooves of wild ponies clattering down the street below my bedroom window late at night...

...then followed the herd further up the hill...

...like fairy horses riding through the dark. And that's how I think of them still: fairy horses. Appearing and disappearing as if by magic.

...while we headed in the opposite direction: back to the studio and back to work, filled with our morning quota of enchantment. Goodbye, lovely creatures, goodbye!

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