China Jon's Syncretic Journal

The sun glanced off the wave crests like laser beams,
and the riderless white horse proudly turned his head to the West, toward the sea.

His ears scanning like radar dishes, the stallion senses the deeper sounds, the dark blue sounds.

Does his more natural wisdom tell him of the ashes? The ashes of the man which drift within the deep blue currants? The man who once sat astride proud stallions such as himself?

The white sounds of sand softly washing clean the once lonely beach try to hide the darker tones of mourning. The man is gone. The man is gone.

What sensibilities lie within the heart of the beast we name ‘horse?’ Can he know the depths of despair as we do? Can he mourn the passing of his Rider? Can the deep blue sounds reveal the presence of his man?

And in his knowing, in his mourning, in this bright and glittering morning, what does the white stallion do? He nods his proud head toward the deep blue ashes, toward the deep blue Rider, and then he turns away, and never looks back.