I am a human being who wishes to be a horse so I can one day fulfill my dream of galloping across the great plains of the USA.





When my transformation is complete I look forward to the gentle breeze flowing through my long coarse hair, eagles soaring high above, the serene beauty of a summer sunset, the excitement of watching the lights on the tribal casinos at night, gentle prarie critters that I will befriend, and babbling brooks that will quench my thirst. I want to be light brown, preferably with a white stripe going down my face like warpaint. As intimidating as I'll look I know that life isn't easy for horses and I think that the life as a wild horse is elegantly described by Trish Beckwith in her poem "Wild Horse".

Aloft the wind
I ride the night sky
I see the world through a much different eye

Power, beauty
Strength and grace
I feel the spirits of ancestral space

Pride of herd
Sisters and brothers
I live ever watchful standing by others

A kaleidoscope of colors
No two ever the same
The short, the tall, the long of mane

I know the chance
I know the fear
I live on the edge for death crouches near

On my back I carry a load
Through storm and calm
Ever vigilant and bold

I have died in battle
Killed by man
Hunted by predator as I roamed the land

No more room
Not enough grazing
Captured, shot, sold by pound on bills of lading

Yet I survive
Sometimes an insurmountable course
I am feral, I am Mustang, I am Wild Horse