I have a vivid memory seen through my five year old eyes. My parents had not long divorced, and my time was spent travelling between two homes.  I was too young to really grasp what was happening but I do remember this:

There was a little stone bridge in what used to be my hometown, and beyond, a field full of beautiful chestnut horses. I remember, for years, every time we drove towards that field I would press my tiny hands up against the car window, misting the pane with my breath. Heart pounding, I would wish that one day, one of the horses would notice my longing heart.

In my young mind, desperate to escape the adult world of divorce and the awkwardness of new steps parents, I would imagine the horse jumping over the little stone bridge, galloping towards me, stopping at the car, and tossing his head and neck as if to welcome me aboard.

In my imagination, we would gallop away, wild and free forever.

This went on for years, until I was old enough to creep away from home, climb the five bar gate, and make friends with these gorgeous beasts. And by luck, universal intelligence, or sheer determination, when I was twelve years old, I was befriended by a rambunctious chestnut pony called Sonnet, who, against all odds, become my very own pony.

Sonnet was my best friend, and my muse for this illustration and tale (as well as the book, The Girl and her Pony... but that’s another story for another day).

Sometimes, I think I wished so hard for so long, that my dream of owning a chestnut pony was destined to become true. So I share this not only for me, the little 5 year old girl I once was, but for all the young readers out there who have a dream.

Anything can happen if you truly believe x