healing haven

November 16, 2008

Ride the Night Wind

Filed under: Baba Yaga journey — by thalia @ 12:04 pm
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 She quickly found that even the bouncy ride on this black mare was putting her to sleep.  How was that possible?  Maybe because of the darkness?  Maybe the events of this last week were more exhausting than I realized.  My back and legs already ache from moving all the tables and chairs, and then unloading the car for Hospice Volunteer Recognition.    I’m glad I loaded the car over the previous two days.  Spread out the achiness a bit. 

 But it was worth it.  The volunteers felt very appreciated by the buffet, the speaker and, of course, the skit performed by the hospice staff, with even three doctors performing in it.  The awards, certificates and gifts are tokens of appreciation, but they know how much I care and appreciate all of what they do. 

 Wesssss… wesssss….. The fast night riding was making the wind rustle by.  I wonder what her name is?  Or does she even have a name?  Black Beauty?  Way too obvious. And would anyone here in Lemuria even now of that book?  Probably not.   She put her hand on the mare’s neck and felt the blood pumping through engorged veins and the powerful muscles tensing and releasing as her head moved up and down with exertion.  There also seemed to be a slight vibration underneath the muscle.  Almost like the purr of a cat.  She leaned forward to place her head on the mare’s neck, breathing in the smell of horse and stables even as the silky mane tickled her nose.  Now she could place both hands on and around the mare’s neck.  Wesssss… Perrrr… Perrrr…  Whisper?  Could that be her name?  Whisperer?  Like horse whisperer?     

 Wesssss… Perrrr… Ah!  Like air forced out of lungs.  Was that part of the sound or a reaction to running?  She felt like she was careening through the world in this darkness, unable to distinguish any landmarks, only hearing the wind rushing by.  More accurately, as she and the horse rushed by.  Maybe that’s how the phrase, “runs like the night wind,” came into being. 

 Wesssss… Perrrr… Ah!  Again, the same sounds.  She snuggled closer into the black mare’s neck, becoming one in the ride.  Hearing someone saying: “I think we should name this mare Wespera.  It’s an ancient European name for night wind.  She rides like the wind and is blacker than the night itself.”  A nod and flick of the tail accepted the name.  Wespera-that’s who she was… rider in the night wind…  rival to the night wind… free in the night wind… Wespera!

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