The sound of the little cart on the lane came first and then the sight of the pony clip-clopping towards our gate.
An old woman, as old as the hills, was sitting atop the cart jiggling the reins as she jogged the pony expertly down the road.
An old woman, as old as the hills, was sitting atop the cart jiggling the reins as she jogged the pony down the road
We waved her down to say hello, because we are always so delighted to see people with horses that we often run out to talk to them. On this occasion, as the weather-beaten old woman in scruffy clothes pulled the pony to a stop, we could also see an old man sitting, or rather lying beside her, all wrapped up.
He was stretched out oddly, with one arm stuck out at an angle, and appeared to be strapped in with baling twine. His eyes were closed.
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