This shows a horse (possibly a prehistoric horse as he looks smaller and somewhat differently proportioned to the mainly Arabic horses we are used to today.) He is galloping down a sand dune in rather dry looking countryside. There are stones and scrub grass in front of him, and what looks like the see behind him, with a mountain in the distance. Fluffy white clouds float through the pale blue sky above him. His hooves are all black, as is his mane and tail, his belly and the front of his muzzle is white while the rest of him is a warm brown.
To me, he also looks slightly scared, as if he dare not stop the charge he is on. The stones underneath him are being kicked up, not helping to ground nor slow him.
And this is how I have felt for most of the day: restless, unable to stop or slow down. To carry a burden that any family must share and endure at some point to the generations before. To a great lady, Catherine Edith Jones: you will be missed but you will be thought of often by those that loved you and now share in your fantastic art. Seventy eight was too young for such a fine lady. May you rest in peace.