Four little country Hollows. They seemed like an endless universe for a couple of runaway kids– and their tireless, rampageous doublewide trash horse– to range around in. What is so memorable bout those hollows?
Farms. Woods. Freedom. Ancient trails that led somewhere or nowhere. Neighbors who liked to see us when we paid calls on horseback. Some creepy secrets. Everything we needed to find our hero selves.
There is something magic about your view of the world from a horse’s back. Your head floats a little higher off the ground and you feel a bit lordly. You can look all around you too, because you aren’t the only one watching the road.
Deer and other critters gaze mildly at that big centaur coming their way, and they don’t skedaddle unless you talk. The world of nature enfolds you, and you start to be an animal for a blessed while.
You dare to turn onto those strange and alluring trails that you stumble across, even if the sun is sinking. One of you, if not both of you, always knows the way home, even in the dark.
Going back to my neighborhood as an adult, I see how tiny it really was. Of course it has changed a lot. Much of the land is now posted. Old houses are torn down and modern ones are built. Kids ride Quads or snowmobiles now, and the wild critters run when they hear them. But some of my neighbors have stayed on. We talk about the old days, the old places, the mighty deeds, the mighty steeds now all of them gone to their long homes.
I have travelled the world. I still remember my little magic corner of it, and how it was when I claimed it as mine. I’m really glad I wrote it all down in “Sam.”