Dawn breaks. A golden glow is cast upon my bedroom wall. I survey the room, the white lace curtains, the vanilla walls. Pictures of a happy family are on the dresser beside me, taken at a time when we lived in the Forties Settlement—Mumma, Daddy, Jacob, and me. In the distance you can see the barn, an apple tree at the edge of the pasture that bears yellow fruit in late August. Farther still, almost invisible to the eye, running at lightning speed, is a chestnut pony. Jacob’s head is turned slightly toward the sound of hooves pummelling against the green grassland. Mumma is smiling, beautiful as always. We are all smiling except for Jacob, who has thoughts on his mind besides having his picture snapped.
There is no looking back. Only the reality of what is.
No thoughts of how it was.
No was.
Just is.
No longing for a chestnut pony that will never come into being.
There is peace, serenity, hope as I look ahead.
And now it might be.
All this might someday be.