Zosia

Put $370 in a bag. In 48 hours Until Wednesday evening.
I’ll pick it up for you today among people.
Pin on a beard if you don’t have one.
Make a belly out of a pillow.
Frown and move.

Zosia is looking for her Santa Claus. He can barely look out because his eyesight is poor.
But so what? The Santas of this world don’t go to places like this.
You will be a pioneer.

I don’t know where she came from.
We were picking up a pony that had been fully funded by a donor and I saw her tied to a post near a rusty gate.
He’s supposed to leave tomorrow.
And it won’t be Santa in a hat who will come for her…

The dealer says he bought it because no one wanted it. It served half of the village. This Christmas he will use it for the last time – with everything he has.

It’s not very expensive.
It goes to pet food.
Such old and sick horses usually end up there, not for export.

I walk over to her. I whisper that I will do everything in my power – but I feel like I’m talking nonsense. Because what can I do without you?

It’s starting to rain. The cool wind blows Zosia’s completely coiffed mane. She didn’t even have a name here. I gave her one quickly because it seemed so familiar to me. With a history similar to our human ones.

Today the world needs you. And he gives you everything. And when the day comes when better and younger people come and bring something new – you go beyond the bracket. And beyond that, no one cares about you anymore.

There is no rule. I know old horses that have paradise. Just like old people. But most – most lose their dignity faster than they are taken off the stage.

And she stands here before you today, old Zosia. And he looks around for reindeer. Maybe it’s stupid. But what was wise, economic and logical sentenced Zosia to death. It stares at the sky, dances in place and opens its eyes wide to its destiny.

Will you be that Santa Claus?
The first in her life?