Wanderlust

She did not finish her meal. She did not excuse herself. She got up from the chair and then away from the table. She stepped out through the kitchen door which led her away from the house. She ran as fast as she could and her feet pounded the soft grass beneath them, her breath getting deeper into her lungs, metallic as if it echoed through every chamber of her heart. The curls in her hair rode the air behind her towards the wooden door which was horizontally split in two. The sun was shining in its daily peak - it lingered over her craving like an eager hand. She had clutched her hands in anticipation to the release.

She decreased her pace as she neared the door. She open it one half at a time. Inside the stable, sheltered from the heat, a wide-eyed creature, panting, front paws punctuating the flattened earth floor.

(If it could speak it would agree with her.)

And so they met again, in silence - each longing for the other’s freedom.