Ploudalmézeau (Finistère, France)
We go to the sea every day, often in the evening until sunset. We walk along the beach, stop and watch the waves breaking on the sandbank, or the flock of birds moving above the sand in rhythm with the waves.
On the way to the beach, we cross the coastal road. There is a horse in a spacious, hilly meadow. A beautiful animal with shiny, thick brown coat and white legs. Sometimes we bring it a carrot, once we also cut up an apple. It comes toward us whenever it sees us, sniffs us, lets itself be petted and fed.
Sometimes, when it stands on one of the hills, we can even see it from our accommodation. Then it looks as if it were standing on the roof of one of the houses along the coastal road. When I see it standing like that, I feel pity. It is alone, and the meadow doesn't seem lush enough. Hopefully it has enough food. But it's the loneliness that makes me sad.
Then I feel it in myself too, this gnawing and empty feeling of loneliness. Fortunately, it has become rare. But even here, in probably the best accommodation we've stayed in so far, I feel it. And when I see this horse, it resurfaces in me. Luckily this phase is a rarity. Because on all other days, I swim in an ocean of happiness.
We go to the sea every day, often in the evening until sunset. We walk along the beach, stop and watch the waves breaking on the sandbank, or the flock of birds moving above the sand in rhythm with the waves.
On the way to the beach, we cross the coastal road. There is a horse in a spacious, hilly meadow. A beautiful animal with shiny, thick brown coat and white legs. Sometimes we bring it a carrot, once we also cut up an apple. It comes toward us whenever it sees us, sniffs us, lets itself be petted and fed.
Sometimes, when it stands on one of the hills, we can even see it from our accommodation. Then it looks as if it were standing on the roof of one of the houses along the coastal road. When I see it standing like that, I feel pity. It is alone, and the meadow doesn't seem lush enough. Hopefully it has enough food. But it's the loneliness that makes me sad.
Then I feel it in myself too, this gnawing and empty feeling of loneliness. Fortunately, it has become rare. But even here, in probably the best accommodation we've stayed in so far, I feel it. And when I see this horse, it resurfaces in me. Luckily this phase is a rarity. Because on all other days, I swim in an ocean of happiness.