It was early March when I found myself on Assateague Island, that wild stretch of sand and salt marsh off the coast of Maryland where the Atlantic wind never stops talking.
The summer crowds were months away, the campgrounds were empty, and the only sound was the low rhythm of waves meeting the shore.
It was just me… and the ponies.
If you’ve never seen them, the wild ponies of Assateague are something out of a dream. Stocky, weather-tough, with windswept manes and deep, knowing eyes. As if they have so many stories to tell. They roam freely along the dunes and marsh grasses, completely indifferent to the human idea of order. But not so indifferent that they won't give a good bite if they don't appreciate the space or lack there of, that you're giving them.
Legend says their ancestors swam ashore from a Spanish galleon that wrecked off the coast centuries ago. Others believe they were once domestic horses turned loose by early settlers. Either way, they’ve called this place home for hundreds of years — thriving on sea oats, salt hay, and freedom.
On that March morning, the sky was heavy and gray, the kind that holds both calm and mystery. I wandered down a sand trail and saw them ahead, a small herd grazing quietly, their coats thick against the chill. They noticed me but didn’t flee. Instead, they watched. We watched each other. There was no noise, no rush, just breath and presence.
In that moment, I realized something that words can barely hold:They were as curious about me as I was about them.
No fences. No crowds. Just life meeting life.
A reminder that we don’t always have to do something extraordinary, sometimes, we just need to be somewhere honest.
Standing there in the quiet, I thought about how much noise we carry, the endless scrolls, the opinions, the hurry. The ponies had none of that. Their world was simple: wind, water, grass, each other.
And for a few fleeting minutes, mine was too.
A couple days later, made my final walk back toward the empty parking lot, the sound of the waves faded behind me. But the stillness came home with me, that quiet understanding that there’s something sacred about solitude, and something deeply human about sharing space with wild things that owe you nothing.
Unfortunately, as it always does, that stillness turned back into the constant noise, leaving moments in my soul and images on my hard drive. Wondering, when will I again, get to be in that quiet....
