Beau

The birds sing in the trees and hedgerows as I lead him through the yard and passageways of the barn. His metal shoes make a satisfying clip-clop sound upon the grey stone ground, as I bring him to his stall.

With the rope, I tie him to the iron ring which hangs from the wall. There, breathing in his scent, I trace my fingertips across the pattern of his velvet coat; the white, the brown and black patches which cover his body. Then, I brush off the mud from his legs before dilgently plaiting his tail and rosebudding his mane.

I saddle him up and jump upon his back. With the sunlight beaming down on us, he carries me along the meandering laneway, lined with white buds and purple foxgloves with orange and black patterned butterflies flinting from one to another through the hedgerows and fields. 

We travel to the top of the hill and gaze at the majestic Glens of Antrim, sweeping down to the sea. We watch the busy port of Larne welcome the ferries from across the channel. We marvel at the rays of sunlight illuminating a flock of sheep, grazing happily within the valley of our pennisula. 

We enter the paddock and begin our exercise for the day under the shade of the oak trees. We trot and cant...

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Lily Larkin
Jul 20 2020

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