The Arabian Mare             

That night he dreamt of horses in a field on a high plain
where the spring rains had brought up the grass and the
wild flowers out of the ground and the flowers ran all blue
and yellow far as the eye could see and in the dream he was
among the horses running and in the dream he himself
could run with the horses and they coursed the young mares
and fillies over the plain where their rich bay and their
rich chestnut colors shone in the sun
and the young colts  ran with their dams
and trampled down the flowers in a haze of pollen
that hung in the sun like powdered gold
and they ran - he and the horses out along the high mesas
where the ground resounded under their running hooves
and they flowed and changed and ran and their manes
and tails blew off of them like spume and there was nothing
else at all in that high world and they moved all of them in a
resonance that was like a music among them and they were
none of them afraid horse nor colt nor mare and they ran in
that resonance which is the world itself
and which cannot be spoken but only praised.

(Cormac McCarthy: All the pretty horses)