Starfire
That particular first day of spring was so uncompromisingly glorious that I decided to extend my usual walk; instead of strolling from Second Street in North Wildwood to the Ferris wheel, I would go all the way to the Boardwalk’s southern end.

The vault of the sky was a deep porcelain blue, and the restless ocean yet several shades deeper, the ceaseless white waves distinct against it, a land breeze blowing a pure powdery spray from their crests. Seagulls hung and soared like magic kites in the salt-smacked welkin, and all was fresh and new, old winter now a dim and frosty memory. My feet were young and nimble and my legs strong and sure, encased loosely in a new pair of shorts, unveiled finally for the bright burgeoning season. A new red baseball cap shaded the shimmering disc of the sun from my happy eyes. I wanted to hoot and caper like a schoolboy freed at last from desk and drill.

The vegetation on the low dunes of North Wildwood was changing from drab browns and grays to russets washed and streaked with fresh green. The long dune grass waved and bent in a rippling dance of welcome to the new season, and sparrows and wrens easily rode the delicate tips in a miracle of balance and poise. The first red-winged blackbirds uttered their occasional fluted call and goldfinches darted like sunbeams. Robins danced their stifflegged reels on the warming turf while a single hawk wheeled above. A cottontail regarded me and then hip-hopped away on important bunny business, while my favorite tabby beach cat crossed Kennedy Boulevard like a regal little tiger to hunt in his private preserve. It was indeed good to be alive.

On the boards, a small multitude, out to catch the first official rays of spring, strutted their stuff with exuberant strides and called hearty greetings to each other. Here and there, little kids darted from their parents, shrieking like joyous banshees. I waved to my usual Boardwalk pals with the pride that we’d walked away another winter and smiled hellos at the new faces, too, pleased to share the day with them. I felt like I could walk forever.

Lost in the rhythm of my strides and thoughts, the scalloped silhouette of theconvention center was a small surprise and I tipped on past it to the end of the Boardwalk, touched up on the still-cool metal rail there and turned to retrace my steps. That part of the Boardwalk was still empty.

I had gone perhaps fifty yards when I felt a tremor under my feet and heard a clattering noise behind me. Alarmed, I spun and was confronted with a horse bearing down on me, a white horse dappled with spots of the warmest off-brown, a mixture of deep tan and orange. As the beast came ever closer, I could make out a splotchy star on its muzzle.

The closer it came, the bigger it loomed. I had forgotten that horses up close were so massive. My first impulse was to flee from this stallion, but there was really no place to run, so I simply stopped and waited while he approached and aused several yards away, snorted softly and almost daintily raised a front hoof and lowered it, sending another vibration through my feet.

We remained in that sunny standoff for a very long moment and then, not knowing what else to do, I resumed walking. The resonating clip-clops I could hear behind me told me that the horse was following me. I stopped, turned around, and yelled, “Scat!” and felt immediately foolish. The horse stopped again and blinked slowly in agreement.

As we neared the convention center – a parade of two – three boys in their early teens whizzed their hot rod bikes up the cement ramp and, seeing the horse, began to circle it and chant, “Yo, horsey! Yo, horsey!” making sure to keep a respectful distance from my newfound walking partner. At first, the horse lowered its head and gazed at them with what I thought was a slight annoyance, then isregarded them and continued to follow me. The kids fell in behind us.

“Is that your horse, mister?” one of them asked.

“Nope. I have no idea what he’s doing here.”

On we went, a longer parade now. From the beach, a family of five, the children chattering excitedly, clambered up the stairs and then retreated halfway down again when they saw the horse.

“He’s okay! He’s okay!” the bike boys called to them. “He’s nice! He won’t hurt you.” There was a tone of pride and possession in their shouts. Thus reassured, the family joined the procession.

A little further on, two carpenters were at work on one of the Boardwalk stands. They did a double take when they saw us, and one said, “I don’t believe this. C’mon,” he said to his partner, “we gotta see what this is all about.” And they put down their tools and tagged along, too.

“Is that your horse, sir?” the younger one asked.

“No,” I answered. “I guess he’s just out for a walk.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” the guy said. “Wait’ll I tell my wife and kids … a horse on the Boardwalk.”

I looked back and a group of people from the convention center had come out to see what the ruckus was about. I stopped. The horse stopped. The kids, the family, and the carpenters stopped. The folks from the convention center walked briskly toward us, pointing and talking animatedly among themselves.

“He’s not my horse!” I called when they got close enough. Everybody laughed. They, too, fell in and off we went again. I didn’t know what else to do. We were a small crowd now, but the horse didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to be enjoying the Boardwalk and the beautiful day.

We had gone a few more blocks when a police car swung onto the Boardwalk ahead of us and headed straight for us. I assumed they’d called the police from the convention center when they saw the horse. The car slid to a stop and a burly sergeant got out and waited until we reached him.

“It’s not my horse!” I said before he could speak and everybody laughed again.

“Where did you get him?” the officer asked. “No horses allowed on the Boardwalk, you know.”

Everybody really laughed now because there was the horse, standing in the middle of the Boardwalk, big as life – bigger, actually– calmly breaking the law.

“I didn’t get him anywhere,” I said. “I just turned around and he was following me. I don’t know anything about him.”

“He’s nice!” one of the kids piped up.

“Yeah! Yeah!” his pals added and everybody else chimed in about how wellbehaved and pretty the horse was and how he wasn’t hurting anybody.

The cop took off his hat and scratched his head. “I gotta call the lieutenant,” he said and went back to his cruiser. We just stood there until we heard another vehicle behind us and turned to see a beat-up, faded old red jeep chugging toward us. As it got nearer, we could see that it was towing a horse trailer. It stopped and a young, red-haired woman got out. She was wearing jeans and cowboy boots and had a halter in her hand.

“There you are!” she scolded the horse in a throaty voice. “You just stand still now.” She threw the halter cver the horse’s head, which he bobbed sheepishly. She stroked the star on his muzzle affectionately and explained to us, “He’s always taking off. He followed a runner last week. He just likes people.”

“What’s he doing here?” I asked.

“Well, I live over in Erma, and it was such a beautiful day, I thought I’d go for a horseback ride on the beach in Brigantine. You can ride there now. And I hadn’t seen my aunt in the Crest for a while, so I stopped to see her and while we were having coffee he kicked the trailer gate down and took off. Thanks for finding him.”

The cop had come up and heard her explanation. He shook his head in exasperation and told her she had to get her horse off the Boardwalk before he gave him a ticket for jay-walking. That got a big laugh.

He chuckled, too. She loaded the horse into the trailer, hopped in her jeep, and was about to drive off when I called, “Hey, wait! What’s his name?”

“Starfire!” she answered.

And away they went.