My Spirit Pony comes to me when I sleep.

She paws the earth, snorts and shakes her head.

“What do you want,” I ask.

“Come with me,” she says.

“I can’t. I’m tired and must work in the morning.”

“Nonsense,” she replies.  “You were born in the Year of The Horse. You were born to race through starry fields.”

“I was born to work.”

“You were born to do both.  The harness will still be there tomorrow.

The traces will be ready and the load prepared.

But your spirit needs sweeter fodder than the rewards of daily labor.

Come with me and know the broad, open plains and dark tangled forests of your heart.

Come with me and hear the voices of angels in the echoes of our hoof beats.

Come with me and we will hurdle across the meadows of eternity and you will remember who you are.”

“Come,” she nickered softly.  “Come.”

And my sleeping spirit rose up and answered “Yes!”

She whinnied with joy and turned toward the moonlight and we ran side by side till the ghost light of dawn.