You find there in your quilt as it enshrouds you while you lie still hoping that the day's responsibilities won't find you. You see the ears, small and dark, running into the head, facing so that a single, white, wide eyeball stares at you, condemning, understanding, uncertain. The head blends to neck blends to body and that movement maybe too wide for a real horse, but this is just a horse in a quilt. The long, spindly legs are there, but the tail is lost under a bump.
You're just lying there, staring at it, wanting to capture its image with some sort of device, but knowing that a movement would ruin it forever.
So you capture it in your mind, writes its description with your head, let its single, white, wide eyeball stare piercingly back at you until you can no longer forget it, so that when you close your eyes you see it still, floating brightly against the darkness inside.
And then it's gone.
You can't capture a moment like a horse.