Loose Horse

A stallion on the run demonstrates the collective community genius of my local hamlet.

I get a knock on the window at 5.45am.

I’m at my kitchen table writing (or about to write). The knocker seems simple. Ruddy-cheeked, open face, out of breath. I recall him wearing jeans and a check shirt that accentuates his spreading belly. But flicking through the photos now I find he’s dressed more like a safari guide.