Horses

          I was young, the first time I decided to run away, somewhere not much older than 8, I don't think.  My siblings and I were going to meet at midnight, get our packed and hidden things out of my closet, and book it for the woods somewhere.  Now, this desire didn't stem from the unbearableness of our childhood at the time, but more from a sense of adventure.  We didn't get very far - I fell asleep in my closet waiting for my brother and sister, who themselves couldn't have been much older than 5 and 4, respectively.
             The second time I was bound and determined to run away, I was somewhere around 13, and that time it was to show my parents.  I'm not sure what I was gonna be showing them, but I do remember the "that'll show 'em" feeling.  It was winter, and I was supposed to clean out the dog pen before the next day, or I wouldn't be allowed to do something, though I can't remember what, connected to my uncle/god father visiting the next day.  I was mad, because both Mum and I had a dog and it wasn't fair that I had to clean it out, especially since I think it was her dog that liked certain frozen "treats".  So I sulked for quite a bit, on the porch, because I wasn't allowed in 'til it was done.  Then I came up with the brilliant idea to rebel by leaving, so I left.  Just up and walked in the neighbors woods for a while, wondering if Mum would notice I was gone, what her reaction would be, and how much trouble I would get in when I got home.  Then, to waste more time, I quite happily imagined that the woods were still full of Indians and what I would do if I were captured, etc., 'til I kinda started to freak myself out - it was getting dark - then I headed back home.  And, to my chagrin and minor relief, Mum hadn't even noticed I had been gone.  
          For the most part, though, my desire to run flows from a major wanderlust, a desire to go and find something exciting and new, somewhere I haven't been before.  Guess I read too many adventures growing up.  I still suffer from this wanderlust, though now I mostly have it under control.  Except when I see the horses.  Horses in movies, horses in pictures, horses in real life, horses in my dreams - I fall apart.  I can't handle it.  I'm left an emotional wreck, my soul yearning for the wilderness, freedom, excitement of a life somewhere else.  And I want to run, run as fast as I can from the comfortable familiarity, monotony, and tepidity of my life and enter into an adventure.  Six out of the past seven nights, horses have been in my dreams, their presence growing stronger with each consequent night, passing from random background imagery to becoming the prominent focus directing my dreams.   I cannot tame them, these wild horses; perhaps because deep down I do not want to resist their siren call....