A Season for the Mature Drunken Horses
A meadow here an oasis there await them, right a canter away from hassles, fences and the confinement of the sodden stables; and a gallop to the secrecy and concealment . A grandiose trot and contemplation upon the harmony and pace, enhanced by the velvet of the manes and the lashes of the tails. The scene is set and the show is about to begin. The oasis is now all curiosity. The lust, the grass, the life, and the dormant fantasies are going to be chewed over by the mature drunken horses. The mares, the lustier ones, are in charge and the males, the stallions, look somewhat submissive but yet confident and gracious.
A black African stallion and a white English mare have now found an oasis somewhere beyond the trivial obligations and away, far away, from the rules of the stable. The black stallion, having composed and rehearsed all the rules of his own, tries to make a show of his substance by trotting to the different directions and assessing the pace of events via his rather ostensible performance.
The white English mare, unlike the other English mares, has a different way of imparting her drift upon the forbidden or less approved approaches to the lust, grass and life. She begins with a very slow run, focusing on her sharp sense of richness and idealism, and then she paces it up to a trot, giving a twitch to her head and uttering a rather low -pitched neigh- perhaps to test the level of satisfaction in her mind- and then an ostentatious and different canter with the dance of the silks of the mane on her neck- perhaps to put an emphasis on her rather different approaches to beauty and charm- and then she goes for a gallop, a perfect and meticulously harmonised performance of strength and stamina and simultaneously gentleness and delicacy- perhaps to infer her exact crisp beliefs in retaining to her own standards at any rate and condition.
Now that the sun has disappeared and the rather ceremonial and somewhat philosophical induction and flirtations have been done fervently and the lust and the grass and the life have also been chewed over in a pure horsy way and the curious oasis has seen enough of the show, the drunken horses have to go back to their own stables; but a sense of a sudden recession has made them rather sluggish and reluctant to leave. Now the black African stallion looks rather immaturely saturated than satisfied but yet incongruously trying to look confident and gracious and perhaps thinking of another time another oasis to have the lust and the grass and the life chewed over within his own rules and approaches, hoping he will gain a bit of what he is looking for-the true satisfaction.
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On the other hand, the white English mare, the believer in her own class and standards, looks different, she is in a deep trance created by the rapturous moments of her different contemplation upon the lust and the grass and the life. She is tremendously delighted and has no doubt about it. Another day, another oasis, another Stallion (preferably a black one) and having another go at chewing over the lust and the grass and the life, this is what is going on in her mind and makes her trance deeper and richer.