You decided it would be best to brush the horses. The thought of running your fingers through their sleek coats brought a sense of calm to your otherwise rushed day. As you approached the small stable area, a friendly zoo worker greeted you with a smile and handed you a brush. "Feel free to take your time," she said. "The horses love the attention."
Stepping up to the chestnut mare, you admired her size and grace. Her coat glistened in the sunlight, each hair catching the light as she shifted slightly to acknowledge your presence. You hesitated for a moment, then gently placed the brush against her neck, moving it in slow, deliberate strokes.
The sensation of the brush running through her soft hair was oddly hypnotic. You could feel the texture of her skin beneath the bristles, the slight ripple of muscle as she leaned into your touch. Your hand moved instinctively, almost like you had done this a hundred times before. You focused on the rhythmic motion, each stroke deliberate, as if you were trying to soothe not just the horse but yourself.
You became hyper-aware of the smallest details—the softness of her coat, the warmth of her body, the earthy smell that surrounded her. It was comforting in a way that surprised you. Your movements became slower, more deliberate. You brushed in long, steady strokes down her back, taking care to avoid any sensitive spots.
Without realizing it, you began to mimic her movements. Your shoulders hunched slightly, your back arched just a little as you leaned forward, feeling the brush glide across her flank. You could almost imagine what it felt like to be the horse, to feel the brush moving through your own coat, soothing you, connecting you to something deeper. You watched her breathe in slow, even rhythms, and found yourself unconsciously matching her pace.
Your hand grew steadier, your grip on the brush firmer, as if you were no longer just grooming her—you were becoming part of the process, part of the rhythm of her existence. You brushed her side, her mane, her legs, all the while feeling an unfamiliar sensation settle over you, something instinctual, primal.
Your body moved with the horse now, not against her. You began to lose track of time. Everything slowed down. The zoo, the people around you, even the passing of minutes seemed to fade as you became more absorbed in the act of grooming. The connection between you and the mare felt so natural, so seamless, that you hardly noticed when your own posture changed—your back lowering, your hands gripping the brush like hooves, your mind easing into a new, simpler state of being.