It was a small ramshackle place in the middle of a sleepy old village. I remember the straw and sawdust strewn over the cobbles of the yard, the dark tack room and the smell of leather. The soft warmth of a horses mouth nuzzling my hand for sugar cubes or carrots.
I can still remember all the smells and sounds of that place. . .
But most of all I can remember my longing to be there, to ride, to have a horse of my own.
It has been years and years now since I last rode a horse. . . but today for some reason I remembered the girl I once was and those long summer days filled with the love of horses...
"We have all forgot more than we remember." - Thomas Fuller
Image - Susannah Bec