27. Small horses
When I need to run more than 10km I take a route along the river, down past the ferry that spans the river’s width, out into the detached houses where cows and sheep graze in wide meadows. One of the houses has an alpaca and a wood alpaca in the same fenced off space.
The route bends at another ferry’s harbor, and for the first time I choose to run along the river’s edge as the path winds rather than cut back towards the center. Up on my right I see bicycles leaning against a fence.
As I get closer I notice the group of girls, maybe ten or twelve years-old, who have ridden out here with carrots and apples for some small horses behind the fence. They stand in the paddock or sit on the fence railing as the horses slowly eat.
One girl has a glorious crown of softly scrunched hair. She’s leaning over a particularly willing horse, and as it eats she twists its mane into a close approximation of her own, gently pulling it into braids before puffing them out.
A visiting coworker looking to move to the Netherlands asks if I ever look at my surroundings without thinking how incredibly cute everything is. No, I tell her, not even once since moving.