Last Wednesday the 7th, after cutting the tenons out of the corner posts on the Troll Garden greenhouse with Joe and Serena, I decided the weather was much too nice to squander indoors. So, instead of returning to Brekkukot, I diverted from Hrisbru and crossed the plank bridge on to Gonguleid Flodahringur. Running southwesterly along the eastern ridge of the Solheimar valley, I followed this alluring earthen aisle without object. Along the way, I discerned many natural and pastoral beauties such as: a rainbow stretching across the newly azured sky, new growth forests of both native and nonnative species, Hestur fjall emblazoned in sunlight belittling sheep and cattle farms at her base, patches of autumn coloring in the ground cover foliage, and herds of Icelandic horses in the adjacent field down in the valley. This last observation especially caught my attention, and I soon made it my intention to visit these equus beauties. Reaching them was my first barrier to success; between myself and the nearest herd of Icelandic horses was a barbed wire fence and a maze of agricultural trenches, filled with several feet of rain and ground water. Scanning the lengths of these trenches, I would look for the narrowest aquatic gaps and do my best to launch myself over it, to the parallel embankment. After traversing this steeplechase-like layout for several minutes, I finally reached a heavily grazed field pocked with bulbous earthen protrusions, and five magnificent creatures from the equus breed forus caballus. Prior to this moment, these horses had inquisitively watched my progression all the while, but now that I shared the same field as them, inquisitive observation transitioned to physical interaction; without any attempt at beckoning the herd, they moved from their area of grazing toward me. Outstretching their muscular necks, all five horses affectionately sniffed, nuzzled, and nibbled my clothing and me. In turn, they allowed me to reciprocate their affection with petting and scratching to their: forelock and snout, behind their hears, under their mandible, and between their breast and forearm. One horse in particular, a cherry brown and white paint, took a particular liking to me and wouldn’t leave my side. With my newfound companions I appreciated the beauty of my surrounds, leaving them only when the sun had gone behind the western ridgeline. I’ve seen more of the herd with Nichole since, but plan to make subsequent trips before the six minutes of daylight loss compounds past suitable trip conditions.
Rory Davis
