Lyra and the White Mares

by publiq

2023-12-25 Let the Blue Grass Roll

My beloved Bon Bon,

I want to assure you that the Kentucky Blue Grass shown in the brochure indeed was blue. I was not scammed. I hope the enclosed picture captures its essence, even though we ate in the dark.

After watching the Orchestra of Pan-Siberia, I think they’re called, in Cleveland, we took a bus down the road humans know as Aye-71. A human named Rick pointed out the sights—there weren’t many he thought worthy of highlighting to horses. The highlights he pointed out were the fallow headquarters and grounds for the annual Congress of the Quarter Horses (we would need to book another visit to catch the Congress while in session), saying “somewhere across town is the best emergency equine clinic in a five-hour radius,” and reminding us that Tartarus is real. Once we crossed a worryingly high bridge over a river and exited that city and Aye-71, his horse-human interaction facts became far more frequent.

We spent human Hearthswarming Eve and most of Hearthswarming Day with a herd of racehorses on absolutely luxurious pastures. Humans love fireworks—even building sticks to light firecrackers that deliver all of the sounds with none of the light. The cultural differences have so far proven too great for us to fully immerse—at least not when there are other equines to share our company.

Here’s a not-so-fun fact: racehorses and draft ponies pretty much only become friends here once one (if not both) of them are retired. Otherwise, their schedules don’t work. Racehorses are home training over the winters while most drafts work overtime between the human analogs to Nightmare Night and Hearts & Hooves Day to earn their yearly salary. I am so blessed to live in Equestria. We may never have met if we kept a schedule like this.

Lighter mood: humans have a genre of plucked string music named after this grass. I don’t know how they connected if they never ate the stuff. It’s positively divine.

Once our host’s human landlords retired for their obscenely loud merriment, we equines (and three goats) gathered near the far corner of the pasture atop a small snowy hill. Cindy, the chestnut boss mare, ordered, “Time to roll.” After that bus ride, crunching snow on my spine made all the coat growth hassle worthwhile. I never noticed this about her over all the winters we’ve been in Ponyville, but Vinyl likes to shake three or four times after a proper snow roll because she can’t see if she’s still covered or not.

Finally, we stood in our respective clearings to enjoy our Christmas (that’s what the humans call Hearthswarming) feast of blue grass. That’s when I snapped the enclosed pictures.

Missing your travel companionship,
Yours forever,
Lyra

P.S. Burn this part after you read it, but I now know how Vinyl fills her beats with such crazy syncopation. It’s from her natural stammer.

P.P.S. I am Visiting a large human-only city tomorrow. Currently being pulled in a two-pony trailer. They have an expansive definition of pony here. This cart could easily fit four of us.