The Brown Horse

My parents have a large picture in their house of a small herd of five horses galloping madly across a sandy desert dotted with sagebrush. The wind of their flight is savagely tossing their manes and tails. The sky has the dark bruised color of a gathering storm. I can almost hear the sound of their large hoofs pummeling the ground, raising clouds of dust that practically drown out the sight of the last two horses.

This painting has hung in my parent's home forever. For a long time it hung over their bed and I would often lay on their bed with my head at the foot and my hands behind my head, staring at it. I know it so well...The first horse, the one in the lead on the left, is white/silver and beautiful. He looks strong and commanding. His muscles and tendons are prominent and straining as he flies across the desert floor.

The black horse on the far right is a glossy blue/black. His head is turned to the left and his mouth is open...threateningly? or is he just whinnying in the joy of his swift and powerful flight? I always imagined that he might be scared of the storm, but I was a kid and storms could be scary. Now I think he may be a young upstart getting ready to challenge the silver stallion for dominance.

The third horse, the one in the middle, is a sorrel. She's got a bit of a dusty look from that raised by the first two, but her head is raised and her nose is up and she looks determined and strong. The last two horses are mere images and far too dusty to tell much except that they're there.

Anyway, last night while spending some time at my parent's home for Thanksgiving we were in the basement watching slides of when we were kids. The painting hangs there now and I was looking at it again feeling very homey and nostalgic. Two of my sisters were with me and Sheree mentioned to my dad that she wanted that painting, that it was hers because she was 'the horse girl'. 'Yep,' I thought. 'She is the horse girl.' (She has four now.) Then she told of how she would lay on Mom and Dad's bed and stare at it. I thought, 'Me too!' Then she went on to say how she would think to herself how she would love to have a 'blue' horse someday, just like that one. (Tinky is almost black and a real beauty.) I got to thinking about my own imaginings about that painting. (I was a 'horse girl' at one time too and love the idea of having a horse even now.) When I was a girl I didn't so much want to have a horse as I wanted to be a horse. (It is possible. Ask Jeni.) Which one of those horses did I want to be? Well, this is usually how my thought process would go:

The obvious choice would be the white horse. In command, powerful, strong and FIRST!

No, I could never be that horse. Everyone would want that one. Too much competition for that one. They're rare, like unicorns.

I was sorely tempted by the black one. So striking and shiny. I remembered the books by Walter Farley that I devoured one summer: The Black Stallion, The Black Stallion Returns. Wow, now that's the horse to be.

No...I can't be the black one. Too much competition for that one. After all there is only 1 Black Stallion, "The Black". Those books were in print so long because EVERYBODY liked them. I'd have to go through mobs of people before I'd get a chance to be the black one.

Well, there's the brown one. The Sorrel. The one trailing. The one in third.

Yes, I thought, I can be the brown one. I'll be a special brown horse among lots of brown horses. I liked that idea. That was attainable mostly because I wouldn't have to fight through crowds of others to get it. Lots of brown horses out there. Yep. I'll be the brown one. A good, strong, brown horse.