![pony-2](https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7801/46664160422_b42c85ae5c_h.jpg)
We came to this wee patch of wilderness to take a few pictures along the river, but as I was sitting in the damp grass getting blown about by the wind, a little herd of wild ponies came trotting down from the mountains. I was feeling the cold of January in my fingers and bare legs, Thomas's shoes were soaked from standing in the stream, and yet the moment felt completely magical. I think that is what magical moments are like sometimes--they aren't exempt from the very human pangs or realities, but they elevate those pains into something worthwhile. It was far from a perfect moment and yet it couldn't have been more perfect. Naturally we seized the opportunity to take a few pictures with the ponies, who were surprisingly calm. I thought for certain they would run off the second I approached, but instead they lingered and let us snap away.
![pony-11](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4917/39751814393_fc23f7c998_b.jpg)
![pony-4](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4890/46664160132_8c262b507e_c.jpg)
![pony-5](https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7842/39751814863_71af412abe_c.jpg)
![pony-10](https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7875/31775382977_a76e35640c_h.jpg)
![pony-7](https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7886/39751814763_e8954e5cd2_h.jpg)
![pony-3](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4814/39751815063_c633579246_h.jpg)
![pony-6](https://farm5.staticflickr.com/4874/45992140374_f9edb5ac9b_b.jpg)
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