Black beauty.

With my chin resting on my hands, I stood by the fence, looking at him.

He’d just finished training.

His long neck was bent, his muzzle hidden in the grass that his tongue devoured his food in a noisy manner.

The pink of his tongue flashed briefly before it wound around a cluster of grass.

His black mane blew lazily at the breeze. His calm demeanour made me calm. I could brace the cold to keep him company.

It was long and coarse. I loved running my fingers through it when I brushed his back and sides. Sometimes he understood when I just needed to be around him. His muzzle would brush my shoulder occasionally.

When racing, his sleek black coat shone, he was beautiful.

The shoulder blades moved up then down in a slow seductive manner that still stole my attention, as his hind legs. His firm rump probably was popular with the ladies.

 I loved watching his body move when he raced.

The muscles moving in harmony. Nostrils flaring as his lungs hungered for oxygen, teeth bared, head raised, all wide eyed as he neared the finish line, his tail in the air, while the jockey push him to do his best.

 His long mane flowing wildly at the wind and his tail up as he gave the race his all. His tail brushed his right side now, swatting at annoying flies that landed on his shiny coat that I had spend hours brushing and grooming.

His head rose, feeding temporarily forgotten and he snorted as another brown thoroughbred horse chosen for this years races approached;

A greeting or warning for who ruled that piece of grass at the moment, then he dipped his head and kept grazing.

He was an escape I never took for granted.

He’d won races, but he never changed how he saw me even if I was only a stall cleaner.


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