Horseplay

Sunday seems to be the day for Sychnant, but today it’s ponies rather the swallows that are the stars. It’s eight weeks since I’ve seen them, and I’ve made a wish today that they’ll be here. You’ll know by now that encounters with these beauties have an almost spiritual salve, and I feel I need their company right now. 

Rain threatens as we drive up the narrow hedgerowed lanes, but on arrival, patches of blue appear above us; it seems that we are lucky. G’s set off in the opposite direction on his longer walk; I’m hobbling along, leaning heavily on my walking pole, peering across the bracken hoping for a flash of flowing mane, but for now the sea of green remains unbroken.  And then I catch the sight of mare and foal just visible, walking from the lake to open ground. Sadly, I’ve just missed them drinking at the water source, but by the time our paths converge, I find I’m in the middle of a small herd grazing on the open ground. 

By now the sun is out, their rich coats glowing in the light, manes flowing in the keen breeze. For the most part it’s a case of heads-down, concentrated gazing, with just the occasional chance to catch their eyes as they take a moment from their feeding to look up. 

But there’s also horse play, with some frenzied rolling in the grass, hooves in the air, dignity forgotten. And so I’m torn - again. Should it be a classic Carneddau portrait, bracken-studded mane flowing in the breeze? Or should it be a very different pose, head on the grass encircled by a flaxen mane, hooves aloft? I go for the former, but I may well change …… 

And while I’m there, a dog walker stops to chat, keen to share his appreciation of these beauties. He adds another strand of Carneddau history. Allegedly, four hundred years ago Henry VIII declared they must be destroyed as they couldn’t carry a knight in full armour.  Fortunately, the wild horses have lived on, helped by the remote location and generations of hill farmers who have protected them, enchanted beasts of our Welsh hillsides.