Hoofs.

Scribbled in shaky ink the note of apology hangs flapping on the church gate.

'...please accept our sincere apologies for any damage caused to the meadow graves...do call in at Sugarloaf cottage...for compensation... ask for Anne or Chris...'

Intrigued I make my way towards the small meadow where the young ones lie.
Six tiny headstones leaned left and right as if a downhill slalom skier had sped through marking the run.
Silver flower holders were tipped over, the blooms scattered amidst the long grass.
A fresh unplanned creation, a beautiful wild meadow display adorned with small hoof prints.

'Oh...I'm so sorry...for all this...!' she said clasping her ears.
'...He must have sneaked out when I was in the other stable... I fixed the gate good and tight now, he can't get out...it won't happen again ...
I'm sorry, please, please... can I pay you for any damage...?' pointing to the culprit.

' ... it's ok, no damage, nothing that can't be put right...what's he called ?'

Peering over the wall a young piebald foal shook his mane and neighed as if denying any responsibility.

'Yoyo...only eight months old and silly with it...he has a sister, Spangle...she's three years old...and sensible...' she sighed.

'...Ages with some of them that sleep here...'

I whisper to myself kneeling beside a smooth tablet of pink marble and rearrange a posy of broken snowdrops.