by Jill Sture | September 4, 2016


Knolls and Valleys and biting Mountain Rain.

Pastures emerald green and trails carved into volcanic terrain

From a thousand thundering hooves of a thousand horses and a thousand years.


Landscape untouched; pure, simple, wild; a constant in a land of inconsistency;

Of changing climate and a shifting tide, of fire burning deep inside,

Unashamed of its unyielding power to destroy or to heal,

Relentless in its persistent pretentiousness – “You will never control me” the land cries.


And the horses; governing and powerful as the land – “Respect us and we will respect you”, they say with eyes so profound.


Enter this place with an open heart, for it will accept nothing less.


Breathe in the crystal clear purity,

Touch the sky so low, so blue, so bright; in an instant, evolving into a burgeoning cloud as the heavens burst open.

A rainbow appears, the birds take flight, the rain soaks to your core.

But it doesn’t matter.


Ride brave through the rocky mountain paths scattered with the pretty white dryad, and pillows of olive and jade moss.

Embrace the mighty wind as it snaps at your face on the treacherous cliff’s edge,

Safe in the knowledge that your steed will protect you.


Embrace the intense oppressiveness of the surrounding volcanic rock as you reflect a moment in the Valley of the Horses;

To succumb, to breathe, to smell the rain beaten sodden grass, fresh and green and soft under your feet.




And delight in the lowlands

Barren of trees yet lush with purple heather and violets and colourful fungi, plentiful yet potent in its power to decide your fate.

And savour the wild blueberries, small but sweet on the tongue as they explode in your mouth.


The river vanishes for a moment, it’s quiet.  Then Gullfoss appears, crashing through the canyon; Almighty; silver water plunging through the lava fields.

Falling, falling, deceitful in his wonder for he has the strength to entice.

Hear his noise as he draws you to the abyss, trembling as you near, unable to stop, daring you further.




Hot springs.  A contradiction of heaven and hell.

Immersed, renewed, wrapped in warmth and comfort.  Eyes closed.  Drifting.

But Geyser; no longer does he sleep.  Controlled yet intense.  A rush of bubbling steam and hot water.  Erupting deep from the earths crust; he thrusts his presence into the air as the earth shakes and then lies still in anticipation.  A brief reminder of what lies within.

And fly.


Fly like there is no tomorrow because this is all there is.


Black lava sand beneath;

Dancing ocean waves, cold, lapping the shore, alive with fairy lights from the sun’s white rays.


And fly.


Feel the pounding of the hooves as you give yourself to your mount.

Trust, open your eyes, open them wide, open your heart, open your mind.

Laugh out loud for a moment, look around at the faces of those that surround you, in solidarity,

Friends so new, but known forever.


And fly.


Guide your beautiful beast with his mane so thick, and spirit untamed,

As you allow the speed and the freedom to flow through.


Fly through the clear air, your fears released,

The breeze on your face

As you race

On the sand, damp from the ebbing tide.




Fly with abandon,

Through the sky, steel blue,

So low.  So close.  Touch the clouds.  Touch the sun.  The moon.  The stars.


Faster…free…a bird…your soul.


“Am I galloping?  It’s like nothing I have ever experienced.”


“No,” is the response I hear on the wind as I glide by.  “You are flying.  His feet have left the sand.  ‘Mar’ is in a Flying Pace.  You are flying”.



Read More Wild Women Stories