Wind-horses upon Glastonbury Tor


I have taken the word ‘wind’ and morphed it into an extended equine metaphor, tying animal and natural power into one magical being.

A close friend and I walked upon Glastonbury Tor today. The wind was so strong, I swayed like a sapling and my blue woolly hat blew right off. Here is what I wrote when I got home:

Today was much happier, though I ache all over from fighting the wild herd of wind stallions, both coming up the Tor and going back down again later. Bucking and rearing on their powerful climatic legs, weather-neighs screaming out over the Avalonian plains below, they breathed their spirited rage at human limbs, bodies, clothing, a tempestuous hoof kicking my blue-knitted hat clean off my head, their gusting breath buckling knees and causing tremors in calves and ankles.

The day was absolutely beautiful: Blue skies, skittish colts of pure white cloud, grass as green-gold as world’s beginning, turning to timpani by the wild animal’s strength – all caught within the fragile bell of loveliness, a benediction way up above Glastonbury itself.

Clinging onto the reins, slotting boots tight into stirrups, pulling back upon the bunch of muscle and glide of sinew causes pain, such pain. Next time, I shall ride bareback, reins knotted loosely and shall cry out in the ecstasy of movement, the stormy exuberance of these steeds of air and spirit and passion.

And I shall be FREE!


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