Deep in the
valley, past the place where GPS signals dare not go, there is a pond so
peaceful even the frogs meditate. It is here that Willow, a mare with the
social finesse of a squirrel at a tea party, comes to reflect—mostly on how
grass tastes different depending on her mood.
Willow is semi-retired and fully relaxed. She
insists on visiting the pond at sunrise, because she believes the light hits
her mane just right—she calls it her "golden hour glow."
One morning, she bent down to take a sip and
caught a glimpse of her reflection. “Wow,” she whispered. “I still got it.” The
pond, thoroughly unimpressed, gurgled softly.
As the sun rose, Willow struck a pose, just
in case an eagle overhead was filming for a nature documentary. She stood
there, majestic-ish.
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