A horse stood in the field, head lowered, grazing, until it sensed me and broke into a run. I had never seen a horse run from so close. Its chestnut mane streamed behind it, its body settling into rhythm like a melody moving across a staff.
What came out of me was a single word, barely a whisper:
Beautiful.
I stood there, unable to look away, until it disappeared from sight. It was only running. And yet, it was beautiful. Perhaps it was because the horse was entirely, purely itself.
If we, too, were restored, if we could somehow find our way back to what we were meant to be, what kind of beautiful things might begin to happen in this world?