Ma wasn’t a mare worn down by age.

Ponies in town said she’d lost her beauty to the demands of farmwork but my pa and her kin would’ve thought differently.

She was a powerful mare with scares and crowfeet that showed more experience and wisdom than long lost youth. Her eyes were so bright and still twinkled like a rambunctious filly at her first rodeo. Her mane was fading but she did nothing to reverse it.

Now it isn’t kind to talk about a ladies secrets but her closest friend Ms. Rarity got grey hairs years ago. Like many fickle ponies of her generation she spent a fortune to look no older then mature. She had no idea how beautiful she was no matter what she did but I suppose that her business in fashion demanded she look youthful and full of spirit.

Ma couldn’t care less.

She recounted to me of the time before I was born.

Brash, stubborn as all hell and jovial as a prairie dog in spring were some of the titles she passed around. She was an honest and loyal pony still itching to fight any stallion or mare that gave any lip to the ones she loved. Like a protostar just bursting with vigour and the prospect of new opportunities!

But with age she gained composure and a more leisurely step. No longer was she a bucking filly always trying to prove herself and harvest the fruits of her labour alone.

Ma was a delegator as well as a hard worker now. As the new matriarch after Granny Smith’s passing, she was learning that the farm needed more conventional help to sustain ponies of the future. Cousins like Sage Leaf, Pinova Apple, Braeburn’s girls and more flocked to our farm to learn from Ma and uncle Mac. She worked hard she did. Still an agent of Friendship and matriarch of the Apple Clan, her hooves were always full but she carried herself with a slow yet confident stride.

And she always had time for us, her children.

She took in many souls and still had enough time to cussed out and teach her flesh and blood. She had a special space for all of us. Including me.

Like clockwork, every morning we’d greet the day through a brisk stroll around our orchard. Sometimes we spoke about whatever had been important at that time. Mostly we walked in silence gazing out at our shining kingdom. She tells me that Apple’s have done this ritual since before she was born and as long as we took care of our hull would continue for ages to come and ages to go.

It is in this way mother had always seemed so gorgeous to me. Her beautiful smile, her sagely eyes, the calm and confident way she strode and her empathy for the earth and ponies around her.

Mother was and will always be beautiful