When you're blind, you can still see.
My eyes catch the hint of difference between light and dark. My body knows when the sun is up and the sky is full of stars. My nose can tell if a mushroom is poisonous or if there is another creature nearby. My lips can taste the change in the air like an electric hum. My ears are my best tools of all. With them I can catch the subtle variance in the wings of a fly or the wings of a moth. I don't know if it is blindness that makes my senses so sensitive, having nothing to compare them with, or if it simply that I pay more attention to the world around me.
My continued existed depends on my curiosity. I can never let my guard down because the landscape is always changing. Even with the best of ears I can still crash and fall, and nature doesn't care that I wasn't given a complete set of senses.
I am told I am moss green, a soft, earthy tone that blends in with late summer foliage. I do not know, but it doesn't much matter to me. Life isn't about appearances. After all, you'd have an awfully hard time fooling me with looks. My hair hangs in darker green wisps, tending to curls in some places. It would be hard to tell what my lineage is, but my best guess is something stocky and average sized like a mustang. I feel strength in my body, despite the lack of sight that I would need to pull into a full on gallop.
I ache for that sometimes, to feel the wind tearing through my mane and the ground being gobbled up by my hungry hooves. It would be foolish.
I find my way to the field by scent and sound. Spring has brought out a fresh crop of herdless equine looking for somewhere to belong. I'd like to say my reason is different, just to be contrary, but I cannot. I am looking for a home, first and foremost, and I will be more than pleased if I can find someone worth talking to. A friend, perhaps, or something more.
Damaged horses aren't immune to longings, although I have met many who thought so. As if my blindness makes me lesser, not fully sentient.
I sigh, for the sake of making noise and lift my nose to scent the wind. I move carefully, occasionally dropping my head to grab a bite or cocking an ear to figure out how close I might be to a rustling tree. It's embarrassing, really, how many trees I've hit in my life. It really shouldn't happen considering I have six summers under me, and nearly as many children, but I get distracted following a smell or a sound that intrigues me.
Maybe I will find a home I can learn well enough that I will be able to run within its borders. I grin a little at that, imagining the sight I would make when I inevitably tumbled head over heels. I might as well have wings as gallop.
Shapes of black and white and in between pass over my vision, but none approach me yet, and so I wait contentedly, enjoying the warm breezes after a difficult winter.
there is beauty in the darkness
No Valley, Amazon or Chamber. :p Need new places for my pony.