Neve
« In riding a horse we borrow freedom. » Helen Thomson
Once upon a time, in a limeless world, a little girl we call Neve lived. She had brown-gold hair, tapered fingers and a sharp gaze. The other little girls, children of their’s time, dreamed of being princesses, having cool dresses and modern smartphones. They dreamed of a handsome prince -looking like a singer for teens – coming rescue them on a white horse. They dreamed to take selfies with and post them on social networks. But our Neve didn’t have any dream like that because her own life was a dream itself which she rode snow-white ponies or leopard ones like a cocoa-sprinkled cappuccino.
There were nor smartphones in her world, neither any kind of technology; she used to share any magic moment of her life with her ponies with whom she loved running happy and free. I could hear her talking to them and it seemed like they were going to answer with attentive eyes and straight ears. There were enchanted by this little princess whose kingdom was the wide ground around the stables, and whose treasure was the greatest as it was possible to have: happiness. Happiness is a simple thing.
