The Horse

I sit on the field with the paintbrush in my hand and the easel at my feet. I peer around the corner of my easel to see a purely white mare standing in the field I was painting. I sat there frozen in shock. If I were to make any sudden moves, it would surely see me move. Knowing so, I moved slowly back to my original position to try painting this beauty but by the time I got my white paints out of my bag, it was gone. I was over confused. Where could this new attraction have gone? I painted her from memory but it just wasn’t enough. Nothing compared to the grace of this thoroughbred.