Wild horses
… In October, like birds of migration, the new students come up to Oxford in their thousands, desiring, like Thoreau, to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.
You can literally feel the energy, with the gables and cupolas exhaling the soft airs of centuries of youth. Still, after all these years, I so love this time of year – it brings me hope of better times, of new beginnings.
Carried by the love, we sauntered on to Port Meadow, enjoying a delicious lunch at The Perch before communing with the wild horses on the large unplowed common.
Some time later, Serafina spent much time flying with the Canadian geese who seem to have come to see her as one of their own. And finally, as the shadow grew longer, we all turned westward facing the horizon with the last of the setting sun, together and motionless on a large floodplain, heavy with the tears of another senseless war.
