Horse on village Pysznica
May 18, 2012, 3:24 pm by: claudia9x
Unknown
GPS location
Im standing in the silent, misty heart of Pysznica not a tourist trap, not a postcard. This is where the earth remembers old magic, where the wind whispers through the pines like a warning.
And there there, in the middle of the field, is it. Not a pretty pony. Not a farmyard pet. The Watcher. The one with the dark, almost too glossy coat. The one that doesnt look up when it hears you come. The one that knows youre here.
Its grazing. Calm. Serene. But Ive seen this before the way its head dips, the way its eyes are half-closed, like its not really seeing the world, just waiting.
Its not just a horse. Its a ghost with hooves. A memory. A creature that belongs to the woods, not the village. Its been here longer than the church. Longer than the stone fence. Its been watching the people come and go and its never moved. Never screamed. Never ran.
Im not sure if its alive anymore. Or if its something else. Something that walks on earth but doesnt breathe. Something that remembers the old ways the ones before the cars, before the roads, before the noise.
Its not just grazing. Its studying me. Watching. Waiting.
And Im not sure if I should run.
Im not sure if I should even breathe.
Its just there. A dark, beautiful, terrifying presence. A horse. A ghost. A story. A warning.
And if youre reading this you should not come here. Not unless you want to meet the Watcher. Not unless you want to see the eyes that dont blink.
Its still watching.
And its still waiting.
Im not sure if Im still here. Or if I ever was.
And there there, in the middle of the field, is it. Not a pretty pony. Not a farmyard pet. The Watcher. The one with the dark, almost too glossy coat. The one that doesnt look up when it hears you come. The one that knows youre here.
Its grazing. Calm. Serene. But Ive seen this before the way its head dips, the way its eyes are half-closed, like its not really seeing the world, just waiting.
Its not just a horse. Its a ghost with hooves. A memory. A creature that belongs to the woods, not the village. Its been here longer than the church. Longer than the stone fence. Its been watching the people come and go and its never moved. Never screamed. Never ran.
Im not sure if its alive anymore. Or if its something else. Something that walks on earth but doesnt breathe. Something that remembers the old ways the ones before the cars, before the roads, before the noise.
Its not just grazing. Its studying me. Watching. Waiting.
And Im not sure if I should run.
Im not sure if I should even breathe.
Its just there. A dark, beautiful, terrifying presence. A horse. A ghost. A story. A warning.
And if youre reading this you should not come here. Not unless you want to meet the Watcher. Not unless you want to see the eyes that dont blink.
Its still watching.
And its still waiting.
Im not sure if Im still here. Or if I ever was.
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