While rocking on a rocking horse made by my grandfather, who was a furniture maker,
I enjoyed the journey in my imagination.

It wasn't a flashy design,
Astride a rocking horse that exudes the craftsmanship of an artisan,
As a child, I found it exciting to travel and imagine the sights I had never seen before that I had seen in picture books and on TV.

A sense of security amidst uncertainty.
The freedom to go anywhere without moving.
Now that I'm an adult, the memories of that quiet journey overlap with the breeze I feel while horseback riding.

The view from the back of a horse, the wind that hits your whole body, the exhilaration of riding.

That rocking horse is no longer there, but as my imagination from back then becomes reality and runs through my body, I am overcome with a strange sensation, as if memory and reality are gently overlapping.

Thinking back to the MOKUBA my grandfather made for me.

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In childhood, I traveled far—without ever leaving home.
Rocking gently on the wooden horse my grandfather made,
I imagined myself galloping across landscapes from books and TV screens.

It wasn't fancy, but it carried the warmth of craftsmanship.
Even in stillness, it promised boundless movement.
The freedom of going anywhere, safely cradled in its arc.

Now, riding real horses as an adult,
I feel the wind, the rush, the same wonder.
The memories return—not as nostalgia,
but as something alive and vivid, galloping through my body.

This piece is a tribute to that wooden horse,
and the quiet journeys it sets in motion.

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