This rider knew horses better than he knew or wanted to know people. He had never seen anything like this. �If the horse could talk, what would he tell me,� he reasoned to himself, trying to establish an empathy. �The horse is prepared to die. By why? What is there?� Not a sound now. Not from the horse. Not from the man. Not even from the river, who seemed to have reassessed her position. No longer was she moving along, dark and silky-smooth like a friendly, easy-going companion. Now, she became a waiting observer-cool, detached, watchful from midstream and totally silent.
Everything seemed to be happening at once, now-only in slow motion. The river fog lifted in close. An owl hooted somewhere up on the bluff and was answered from the other side. No doubt a rendezvous was set up. Then, within a ten foot blue black cube visibility cleared. To horse and rider�s immediate left there was a cave. From a seemingly fathomless blackness came its chilling ageless breath. And at its feel-THERE IT WAS! It was a snake. But it was a snake unlike horse or rider had ever seen before. It was thick as the young man�s upper arm at the shoulder. It was long, somewhere between ten and thirteen feet long. The tail was about 12� and appeared to be braided. It was a non-descript color-no color at all, really. But its entire body had luminescence. Slowly, effortless it glided across the trail then back, between trail and river along the narrow, slanted embankment. It moved, neither quickly nor slowly but with a sense of primeval purpose. It moved on a familiar path and seemed to be returning to the cave. Perhaps it made itself visible, not to harm, not even in defiance, but as a pronouncement of ever presence.
Until this time, the horse had remained surface quivering, but otherwise still and it continued in this frozen position for another moment. Suddenly it reared-bursting with new life and a release of pent up fears.
The rider quickly dismounted talking soothingly once again, but this time he caressed the animal�s neck with his right arm, brought the reins down by the bit and nurtured him ahead with sugar cubes pulled from his pocket while dismounting. He glanced ahead and off to his right. The river�s mood seemed to have changed again. No longer was she reserved, still disengaged or observant. Now she was playful almost effervescent-as if she had known a riddle all along and kept it to herself. After an extended stillness, he remounted, leaning over several times to pat the horse�s neck at the crest of his mane. And he sang softly to himself as a young man is wont to do on a spring night. But he never took that river trail again and he never spoke of the incident again. Not until his last year when he told the story to me.
From: Tales of the Heartland Hills
By: Bill Vivrett |
