Standing on tip-toes, arms on the top of the stable door, chin resting on my hands, I would gaze at the thoroughbred within. On her stable door was a plaque announcing her real name as ‘Quintessence of Light’ but they all called her Quincy.

She was the most beautiful, sensitive creature, gently pulling at the hay from the hay-net, chewing each mouthful before exploring the next morsel with clever, soft lips. Her gazelle-legs long and elegant would occasionally stamp or twitch to rid her of a fly. She was aware of my presence, but never ventured over. I was in awe, watching the dust dance around her in the bright sunbeams from her window, like debutants showing off at their first ball of the season. With every gentle pull of hay, more particles joined the waltz. 

She sneezed, making me jump.

She jumped, because I had jumped.

I giggled out loud, and she relaxed.

Resuming my position at the stable door, this time with steepled fingers as if in prayer. It felt right, correct to be respectful in this cathedral housing such magnificence.

“Would you like to sit on her?” A voice from a million miles away sounded in my ear. I looked up at the horse’s owner, a lady who was just as slight, sensitive and beautiful as her horse.

“Wait there, I’ll go and get her tack”. She was smiling as she turned to walk away. “Quick, go and get your riding hat” she added.

A great spike of fear pierced me like a sword. I was terrified, but not of falling or being out of control. I was scared because this woman believed I had enough talent to ride this creature, when I knew I was an imposter. I could ride my pony, no problem, but this purebred, this entity of perfection, this flighty ballerina. I felt clumsy and embarrassed…I just couldn’t do it.

Later, that night, I lay curled up so tight with my memory of that day. Nothing would be the same, nothing would take such courage (a naive thought of the young). But I did indeed ride that thoroughbred, against every screaming nerve in my body, every discouraging thought sneering in my brain. And it was magical. I remember looking down at that powerful neck, those elegant bay shoulders and riding with purpose and empathy, showered with encouragement and praise from the owner.

“She’s never gone so beautifully for anyone else, you have a way about you”.

Well, they may have all called her Quincy, but that was not her name. She genuinely was ‘The Quintessence of Light’ to me.