09/01/2026
I wrote this short story in honor of my beloved mare, Honey. Now gone but never forgotten.
My Neighbor Honey and the Golden Meadow
My name is Emma, and I live in a little white house with a big red barn, right next to an Amish family. Their farm is much bigger than ours, and from my bedroom window I can see their wide fields stretching out toward the woods.
They have a Haflinger mare named Honey.
Honey works in the fields every day. She is golden like sunshine, with a mane as white as snow, and she is the sweetest horse I have ever known.
Every morning before school, I watch Mr. Yoder hitch Honey to the plow. She stands patiently while he works, then leans into the harness and pulls the heavy blade through the earth as if it weighs nothing at all. I wave to her, and she flicks her ears, just once, like she knows I’m there.
After school, I always go to the fence between our yards. When I call her name, Honey lifts her head and trots over. I bring her apples or carrots, and she nuzzles my hand softly while she eats.
I think we are best friends.
One afternoon, as I stood by the fence, I whispered to her, “Honey, don’t you ever want to go on an adventure?”
She didn’t answer, of course. She just pressed her warm nose against my palm and gave a quiet nicker. But somehow, I felt like she understood.
The very next day, something different happened.
After Mr. Yoder finished his work and turned Honey loose in the pasture, she didn’t go to her usual grazing spot. Instead, she lifted her head, pricked her ears, and started walking—then trotting—toward the far end of the field, where the land sloped gently down toward the woods.
My heart began to race.
I grabbed my jacket and slipped out the door, ducking through the small gap in the fence that only I knew about. Honey was already moving into the trees, her golden coat flashing between the trunks.
“Honey, wait for me,” I whispered, hurrying after her.
The woods were cooler than the fields, and the ground was soft with moss and fallen leaves. Birds called overhead, and sunlight filtered through the branches in bright patches. Honey moved easily, like she knew exactly where she was going.
After a while, the trees thinned, and sunlight spilled ahead of us.
When I stepped out of the woods, I stopped short and gasped.
Before us lay a meadow more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. The grass was bright green and sprinkled with tiny white and yellow flowers. A clear stream wound through the middle, sparkling as it ran. The air smelled sweet, like wildflowers and summer.
Honey walked straight to the stream and took a long drink. Then she lowered her head and began to graze, peaceful and content.
I sat down on the grass and watched her, my heart feeling full and quiet all at once. It felt like we had found a secret place—one meant just for us.
I made a daisy chain and draped it gently around Honey’s neck. She stood still, chewing slowly, as if she didn’t mind at all. In the soft sunlight, she looked like a princess in a storybook.
I wished we could stay forever.
But when the shadows began to stretch across the meadow, I knew it was time to go. I stood up and brushed the grass from my knees.
“It’s time to head back, Honey,” I said softly. “But we can come again someday, can’t we?”
Honey lifted her head and nudged my shoulder, warm and gentle.
Together, we walked back through the woods the way we had come. When we reached the pasture, I hugged her one last time before she wandered off to graze.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the meadow—the shining grass, the quiet stream, and the golden horse who had led me there.
I fell asleep smiling, dreaming of Honey and the secret meadow waiting for us beyond the trees.
