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Context: I was returning home from a meeting organized by a psychotherapist at a local bookstore.

It felt like the smell of horse that pulled my eyes to the pen rushed ahead to materialize into the restless stud before I could lay my eyes on it. He was eroding the ground into a ditch as he walked up and down the fence, oblivious to my whistling and the slightly not small meadow behind him. I think the Moon's first quarter was mapping its mind for me: he was patrolling the border between light and dark, with his thoughts stuck in the side with no mysteries. The obscurity behind him he did not even suspect. Seemed like he reminded me of someone.

His patience seemed to have thinned a bit because he stopped to let out a neigh that got a reply from his friends in the other pens. After listening to the roll call, he made a few steps and let out a second neigh, this one left unanswered. It seemed like his friends hadn't understood the first one.

I would have liked to explain to him that I was returning from a get-together where I had confessed as a limited belief the fact that I think I can explain anything to anyone. This was a problem, because I often wasted my time with people who were not willing to listen. But he probably wouldn't have understood me. And I would have proved that I hadn't understood his neigh. So I headed into the direction where the Moon pointed towards mystery, hoping that at least for him it would be enough to meet his kind without wanting to dull their brain with the same things he had dulled his own with.