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Wild Horses


A river bank separated us. I was on a path, albeit a dirt one, that kept me on a schedule. My heavy pack weighed me down and I had many more miles to walk to catch my flight in a week's time. Across the bank I stared longingly at the four-legged beasts running wild and free. Watching wild horses run in a revolutionary rebellion of the soul. I wanted nothing more than to rip off my pack, my clothes, my responsibilities, and join them. But my very human body reminded me that I am not made to run wild like the horses, even if my soul protests. My limbs are too uncoordinated; my mind is too heavy. The bank separated us. I kept walking. Have we evolved out of our inherent wildness? Can we, as a species, return to that?

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