Bronco, a horse that is untamed , that needs to be broken an reined in,. Bronco , the Australian version – a Brumby- a rough wild bush horse, sweeping in herds across the plains of the Kosiuzsco National park, the snow capped tallest mountain in Australia.  The wild bush horses, Banjo Patterson writing about them in the man from snowy river,

“there was movement at the station, for the word had got around that the colt from Old Regret had got away and joined the wild bush horses.”

Imagine being one, running with the wind or against it , your wet nose pointing to the future, your four legs cantering in instinctual synchronisation , suspended in  mid air for the briefest of moments, lungs working like the engine on a steam ship, huffing and puffing with the occasional short flares from, wide nostrils. running like the wind to escape being captured, to avoid the lazy lasso that might come and constrict your neck and pull you down, slow you down. You might buck and kick , but in the end, relent and be placed in a pen, a holding pen, there’ll be winnying and  and stamping of feet and anger and then those ‘men’ will come and try to place ropes over you again and place something on your back, and there’ll be something , someone up there on me and I’ll kick and scream neigh and throw them off, nothing ’s gonna control me, but again and again they try until I become a prisoner to the bondage of the saddle and the grip of the bit in my mouth- trapped, but occasionally allowed to run free with the encumbrance of this ‘rider’, this controller, making me do his will – I don’t like it, but the food is reasonable, the shelter appreciated- but the longing for those wide plains and grasses still lives inside me though. One day- one day I might just throw that rider and rejoin my friends…..