I lived in another village at another time in my life, and there was a field close to my house where a pony grazed. I used to walk that way with my dog, and often I would see a young woman with long dark hair riding the pony bareback. I knew all the locals and she was not of them, neither was there a vehicle parked anywhere. I had no idea who she was or where she came from; there was something of the gypsy about her.
She smiled and waved at me on one occasion, but she never rode over to
talk – just galloped and galloped around and around the field, holding onto the
horse’s mane, rising and falling in equine rhythm. I used to have a photograph
of her, but I’ve no idea what happened to it. She will ever remain one of my
life’s little mysteries.