Wooden Horse

JournalWord: Fighting gravity.

::

She examines the horse, poised on the tips of its back hooves and balancing as it stands tall on the clear glass tabletop. The curve of its back is a series of slopes and arches, almost a vertical posture as its front feet kick at the sky.

His mane is tossed back in frozen waves, curling into itself like a tornado, and the wispy tail is a whirlwind of incoming clouds. The dappled grey hide glints from a polish set into the grain. She wonders if he's even touching the table.

"Papa," she asks her grandfather as she settles her head onto the backs of her hands, waiting for the sparkle to appear in its eye. "How long did it take for you to carve him?"

"Two months," is his gruff reply as he tinkers on a wooden cuckoo-clock on his work bench. "It took two months to fight with gravity."

::

Another short!

I'm juggling (when am I not?) work and responsibilities, and studying for my interview is not helping for time to write :(

I'm in need of some time for intimate laptop-me-inspiration cuddles..

Well, keep bubbly, and wish me luck :)

Mera.