The Sire

A little creative writing to brighten up your day…

Once, he had felt raw dirt under his hooves. Now, bluegrass softened the thundering of his race.

His paddock was his track, and he ran the boundaries with imaginary rivals trailing behind. He could now add the occasional buck and snort without reprimand as he ran.

The spring winds tugged at his forelock and added to the banner of his tail while the sun sparked glints in the red gold of his coat.

Screen Shot 2018-02-13 at 12.02.14 PM.pngOne more gallop around his paddock and then he stopped at the top of the hill. From here, he could see mares in the distant field. Most had foals by their sides. Many of those foals were his.

Pride filled him—his offspring. The men and women that cared for him spoke of future champions. He did not understand those words. He just hoped his sons and daughters wanted to race the wind as he did.

He called out a greeting to the mares. Most ignored him, but a few lifted their heads and returned his call. One colt, no more than a month old, trotted a few steps in his direction and answered with a high-pitched whinny.

He snorted a response and spun around to gallop down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he finally put his head down to graze with no more thought to the son who might one day be as great as him.

Read more from Tamara Hartl!


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