Gone But Not Forgotten
Our First Mustang
Sagewind joined her heavenly herd on September 29th at the age of 32. She came to Spirit Wind Horse Rescue on July 4, 2012. She was the beginning of our mustang story. Beth saw her on a random Facebook page asking to bail her out, as she was headed to slaughter. There was a photo of her in the holding pen in Nevada with a young kid on her. Thankfully a donation was secured to pay for her transport and adoption so she could live out the remainder of her life here in Colorado with some of our elderly herd.
What a blessing that we were able to save her and get to know her. We always wonder how she ended up in a kill pen, but she lived her best life with us and we miss her dearly.
They came for you the wild ones.
On dark rolling clouds before the dawn.
They came running across the mesa in streaks of lightning piercing a dark sky.
I heard their hooves thunder across the valley as they waited impatiently for you to come home.
You arrived on an independence day with the monsoonal rains and a waiting crowd.
Nine years and a little more you have been a constant.
I watched you grow old, your sight diminishing, you lived life to the beat of your own drum.
I knew you had called your wild ones, you were ready and they came.
That day our stars aligned when I saw you heading to that place.
Lives cut short because of mans greed.
A long journey and you arrived.
Eyes bright and inquisitive, marked with strange intricate symbols along your neck.
Symbols telling us your story of your birth place and your once wild desert home.
You were the first, the door opener, letting in the other wild ones now here.
You were a little mustang magic in my pasture.
Today was my final goodbye, my final gift to you, my final chore, just us and,
A man with kind eyes and a vile of pink as I held you closely.
You left with a sigh and the rolling thunder, galloping with your herd.
Out of my grasp, all that is left is your pink grain bucket.
The rain began gently falling from the sky, mixing with salty tears on my cheek.
My first wild mustang with symbols on your neck, your whinny at dusk and your wild beating heart.
The mountains are turning gold with the Aspens dressing up for their final dance.
Run sweet girl where the wild ones go.
Poem by Vee Stockdale