Marcel Winatschek

The Horses

I’m already halfway there by the time you read this. Assateague Island sits between Maryland and Virginia with these wild horses that have just been living there, untamed, for centuries. Nobody owns them. They just run. That’s it. That’s the whole appeal.

These aren’t resorts or Instagram spots. The horses don’t perform, don’t care if you’re watching. They eat salt grass and wade into the water and exist in this way that doesn’t require your approval. They won’t help you relax in the way the travel industry promises. They won’t look good on your phone.

But there’s something honest about an animal that isn’t built to please you. Something that reminds you what just existing means—no audience, no filter, no performance. I’ve wasted enough time in places designed to be consumed. I might not come back. This is it.