the carriage pony burns with the desire to be in the soft fields, to feel fresh green grass caressing her mouth. She burns with a longing for a life never known but only dreamt about. She blazes with the sweat of her thankless labours, toiling in the city carrying witless tourists about central park. Inside her domesticated and well-groomed surface lays a wildfire of hopes and dreams, battered and bruised by the harsh concrete of city life, but not quite destroyed.