Dirt and Horses
Twenty-one Days of Rupture: day two
It has always been the sound of the more-than-human world for me. I have been reaching for it from the start, haven’t I? Like in that photo - a baby with pendulous red cheeks and yellow hair, crawling across the mountain grass. Through crickets. Amongst worms. With sheep and their sharp smell. Dirt and wool and urine and bacteria and a universe of more.
There is respite in remembering the animal I always am and will always be. In dropping out of the lie of the hierarchy. In saying fuck you to Darwin. In evolving sideways instead of up.
Look at me, on that Welsh hillside! Small and round and in the place, as the person, to which and to who I am always trying to get back.
Look at me, in that barn with the goats! My mouth forming a ‘shhhing’ sound, my eyes intent on theirs as they are on mine.
There is nothing truer than the animals we were, that I am, that I try to take out into the rain with me now, to the place where only the dirt and the horses know me and where that is more than fine.
Read about my twenty-one days of rupture here, catch up on day one or even better…
(This is all Megan Macedo and her Writing Challenge’s fault.)
