3
O Horse
One day I got the idea to test horse perfumes and among the several I tried this stood out as being both wearable and beautiful.
I have a wild and irrational love of these animals, but from afar. I own no horse, don’t visit with or ride them. I keep them at a distance as if protecting my heart from a dangerous potential seduction. I watched on TV when Secretariat won the Triple Crown and cheered my lungs out—replayed it time and again over the years.
Only once could I not avoid them.
A prospective cohort invited me to her daughter’s dressage event to talk business. After the event I found myself outside the stables with these magnificent creatures walking languidly by and felt my love of them breaking free, wanting to go where they went, be with them.
I was taken inside to meet the daughter’s horse. She was clearly reluctant to let me, a possible rival, anywhere near her precious beast yet there I was. I reached my hand out to let it smell me and spoke as if I was reading its mind, “I am already in love.” Bashfully, the daughter smiled.
At a party that night, all I could talk about was the horses and how I almost wanted to spend the night in the stables with them.
Arabian Horse perfume, with it’s restrained but unmistakable evocation of horses in a meadow among the wildflowers and the trees, allows me to safely indulge my hidden passion, perhaps from a past life—when I owned and adored horses, or was one.
I have a wild and irrational love of these animals, but from afar. I own no horse, don’t visit with or ride them. I keep them at a distance as if protecting my heart from a dangerous potential seduction. I watched on TV when Secretariat won the Triple Crown and cheered my lungs out—replayed it time and again over the years.
Only once could I not avoid them.
A prospective cohort invited me to her daughter’s dressage event to talk business. After the event I found myself outside the stables with these magnificent creatures walking languidly by and felt my love of them breaking free, wanting to go where they went, be with them.
I was taken inside to meet the daughter’s horse. She was clearly reluctant to let me, a possible rival, anywhere near her precious beast yet there I was. I reached my hand out to let it smell me and spoke as if I was reading its mind, “I am already in love.” Bashfully, the daughter smiled.
At a party that night, all I could talk about was the horses and how I almost wanted to spend the night in the stables with them.
Arabian Horse perfume, with it’s restrained but unmistakable evocation of horses in a meadow among the wildflowers and the trees, allows me to safely indulge my hidden passion, perhaps from a past life—when I owned and adored horses, or was one.