We came to this wee patch of wilderness to take a few pictures along the river, but as I was sitting in the damp grass getting blown about by the wind, a little herd of wild ponies came trotting down from the mountains. I was feeling the cold of January in my fingers and bare legs, Thomas's shoes were soaked from standing in the stream, and yet the moment felt completely magical. I think that is what magical moments are like sometimes--they aren't exempt from the very human pangs or realities, but they elevate those pains into something worthwhile. It was far from a perfect moment and yet it couldn't have been more perfect. Naturally we seized the opportunity to take a few pictures with the ponies, who were surprisingly calm. I thought for certain they would run off the second I approached, but instead they lingered and let us snap away.
CONVERSATION