Share this storyWhite Morning
I wiped an arc of condensation off the window with my sleeve and looked through the shards of frost. Everything was white. There was a white horse in a white field breathing white steam. The trees were frosted and the pond was hard and dusted.
The horse was looking at me, not moving, breathing steam. She was saddled. I put on my cold trousers and cold boots and jacket. I went outside.
Now I was breathing steam. The sun was low, making stripes of trunks on the white crunchy grass. I walked up to the horse. She didn’t move but breathed hot on my face and looked at me. I put my foot into the stirrup and hoisted myself into the saddle.
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White Morning, which was
was posted on December 2, 2008 by
Nesting.
This is a collaborative story.
This story is filed under:
Religion / Spirituality, Supernatural, Western
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