One warm summer evening when I was five years old, my father took me for a walk down a dusty Tallahassee road. At the nearby stable I saw my first horse and fell passionately in love. From that day on, I went to the stable as often as I could. It was bliss just to be near these magnificent animals—to see them, smell them, and if I was lucky, to touch them.
From then on, I had one goal in life: someday I would have a horse of my own. Each year as my birthday drew near I fantasized about the horse that would be standing outside my window when I awoke on my special day. I nursed this fantasy when we moved to a big city. It continued throughout elementary school, where everyone knew I was horse crazy. If I wasn’t drawing pictures of horses or writing stories about them, I was reading Walter Farley’s Black Stallion books from the school library.
Sourced through Scoop.it from: archetypeinaction.com
by Jean Raffa