सुबह की धूप एक बार फिर अपनी गर्माहट खुलकर बिखेर रही थी। घुड़सवारों को प्रिय लगने वाली सारी आवाज़ें मेरे आस-पास थीं- घोड़ों का गला साफ करते हुए फुफकारना, उनकी पूंछों की हल्की सरसराहट, और जब हमने उनकी पीठ पर زین (सड़ल) डाली तो लोहे की आवाज़ों की खनक - ये छोटी-छोटी बातें थीं जिनका कोई खास महत्व नहीं था, लेकिन वे यादों के अचेतन भंडार में हमेशा के लिए बस जाती हैं।
Again the early-morning sun was generous with it's warmth. All the sounds dear to a horseman were around me-the snort of the horses as they cleared their throats, the gentle swish of their tails, the tinkle of irons as we flung the saddles over their backs-little sounds of no importance, but they stay in the unconscious library of memory.
Again the early-morning sun was generous with it's warmth. All the sounds dear to a horseman were around me-the snort of the horses as they cleared their throats, the gentle swish of their tails, the tinkle of irons as we flung the saddles over their backs-little sounds of no importance, but they stay in the unconscious library of memory.