We are storied folk
Sanskrit read to a pony

As if by magic

Tilly's morning surprise:

As dawn breaks over the village, Tilly and I follow the path to a neighbor's field, where we find a herd of wild ponies who have strayed down from the moor.

Dartmoor ponies grazing in a neighbors field...

...as the sun rises over the moor and the village church bells ring the hour.

We know this particular herd, which often grazes on the village Commons (where I can see them from my studio windows as I work), but Tilly and I are both surprised to find them here, shaggy little phantoms in the misty morning light. 

Tilly prowls among them, but knows to keep her distance...

As we cross the field, Tilly is curious but well trained. She keeps her distance, and they pay her no mind. As for me, they are gentle, affable, and patient as I walk among, camera in hand.

...and the ponies ignore her, grazing placidly.

Their long-lashed eyes are dark and deep...

...their noses soft and their pelts winter thick.

These two nuzzled, cuddled, and groomed each other...

When I first lived in the village, on Lower Street, I would sometimes hear the unshod hooves of wild ponies clattering down the street below my bedroom window late at night...

...then followed the herd further up the hill...

...like fairy horses riding through the dark. And that's how I think of them still: fairy horses. Appearing and disappearing as if by magic.

...while we headed in the opposite direction: back to the studio and back to work, filled with our morning quota of enchantment. Goodbye, lovely creatures, goodbye!


I dreamed of the wild Dartmoor & Welsh ponies when I was a young girl, you live in such a magical place!

Thank you so much for taking us with you on these journeys. I am such a home body , I appreciate the wondering and traveling in-between the worlds with you :)


this pony-girl can think of nothing more magical than the sound of unshod hooves in the night....*sigh*

thank you for sharing them with us..


Oooh so beautiful, they are such fairy creatures, especially that cheeky looking spotty one! One thing I would love to see here in Australia one day are the wild brumbies, now that would be a wild, magical sight!

ps. i'm sure you've probably already seen this, but i'd like to share it for those who haven't..



I love these posts of today and yesterday and all your reflections on storytelling and journeying through worlds. Accompanying photos are wonderful as well. Thanks so much.

This window into your Dartmoor life is *such* a gift.

so, so, so, soooo beautiful!

Ah how beautiful to be reminded of the ponies.

I can also remember them clopping through the village at night when I lived in Lower Street with Rachel. We hardly dared look the first time, I recall, thinking it might be Herne passing by! Actually I can hear them now. I remember seeing them in the square, too, on foggy mornings early. Rare and wonderful it was.

That was before they put the cattle grid in specifically to keep them out. I loved them, of course, but they did have a penchant for eating folk's carefully cultivated herbs and flower borders, apparently!

Dear ol' Chagford. I do, from time to time, miss you all. x

How wonderful...

the enormous moose is the animal that seems so magical around here. So huge, yet seems to appear out of nowhere and slip silently back into the forest.

Smiling a smile as big as bowls as I looked at your morning and read "the sound of unshod hoofs... fairy horses." So delightful.

"When I first lived in the village, on Lower Street, I would sometimes hear the unshod hooves of wild ponies clattering down the street below my bedroom window late at night..." Sometimes a simple truthful description is the best poetry of all.

Even in the deepest industrial heartlands we had magic horses. When I was a child we were told that we had to go to sleep promptly otherwise the "Nine o'clock Horses" would get us. The origins of this is a little hazy, but it was supposed to have something to do with the fairly dim and distant past when the main Post Office in the city centre walked their delivery horses through the streets and back to their stables at, yes you've guessed it, nine o'clock.

From the mundanity of fact comes forth legend and wonder.

now i know your place is magic! ponies, and a ghost pony who watches you as she leaves. oh, lovely.

I especially love the last pony turning to look at you and Tilly and all of us. Hello moors, hello spotted

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