Once, long ago, while riding in the back seat of my parents' car through either NY or PA, I saw a wondrously beautiful thing.
We were looking for a place to stay (never had reservations because we didn't know where we would be going); we drove down a lonely road with hills on the north side for the most part, and farmland on the south side.
I remember passing a white and blue cabin type motel.
On the other side of the road was a small farmhouse and barn, also blue and white, with a fenced in paddock. In the paddock, a young girl rode a white pony, complete with flying mane and gorgeous white flying tail...looking like something from a magical fairy story.
I was enthralled.
We drove further on, then backtracked to stop at the motel. I guess we got a room there. Wasn't my five year old business.
Along with the room came a boy about Jack's age. He lived on the farm and came out to see the new guests.
I asked him about the pony...he was vague about it, but offered to take us into the barn to see some animals.
It was in there, in a stall. It was small and gleamingly white and I loved it instantly. It was being boarded there.
Right next to that stall was a huge bull, complete with nose ring and horns. The kid told us not to go too near the door as the bull did not like people.
Yesterday, while watching The Adventures of Buckaroo Bottoms, he worked on a white miniature horse. It ran away from him, and I saw its long white mane flying high and its tail waving as it escaped and I remembered that long ago white pony in some place that probably doesn't exist any more, but the magic returned.
I live for the magic.