Even today I passed by the two horses' meadow.
They were both there, unaware that they were waiting for me.
Of course they weren't supposed to know.
Who knows how these two quiet horses see me?
Who knows if they recognize me or if, probably, for them I am just one of the humans walking along the fence that delimits their world? All the same, strange characters who walk on two legs and who do not seem to appreciate the taste of soft grass.
Of course there are some particular humans, those that horses have come to know, those who take care of them, who groom their hair, who give them a blanket to put on their backs when it's very cold.
It is certain that the two horses know how to distinguish them from the homogeneous mass of the others.
But, rightly, why should they pay attention to me when I stop to look at them and, even, capture their image?
Even today they stand still, just like yesterday.
If they weren't in a slightly different spot on the lawn, I might think they haven't moved at all, they've been petrified for twenty-four hours, and maybe they'll never move.
I would like at least one of them to raise his head, not to recognize me, I do not aspire to that much, but to break their living stillness.