They came in droves, thundering down the side of the mountain. The dust was thick from the churning hooves of horses, and the air dense with the shouting of men’s voices. Halting at the bottom, the riders reined their horses into swirling circles, attempting to contain their movements after such a hurtling ride.
As men dismounted and rubbed down their lathered horses, the noise suddenly ceased. “Go get the last one,” unexpectedly cut through the silence. The man who’d spoken looked up in embarrassment. His face reddening, he returned to grooming his horse. A few laughed good heartedly at his discomfort. There was time enough later to get the last whatever.
The orders came quickly and succinctly, and the men swung back up into their saddles. As the leader wiped the sweat and dust from his brow, a movement in the meager grass caught his attention. A small insect was going about its own business, unaware of the many men and horses that had almost trampled it.
The leader turned to the men behind him. Most were like the insect, going about their job unaware of the bigger picture. A few, like himself, took into account the ripple and tide of events coming into and going out of their lives. He moved toward his horse and mounted. He smiled at the thought of the insect, calmly going about the daily job of crawling up and down grass. The insect smiled, calmly going about his job of reminding men that there is a bigger picture.
This was the first intuitive story that I ever wrote. I could hear the thunder of the horses’ hooves, see the dust, the riders, the insect. Since that time I continue to try to capture in words what my mind’s eye is seeing. Kate