Skyfall

It was the closeness that struck me first.

Not the grandeur of the mountains behind us, the streaky wild sky, or the golden brush of sunlight sliding off the hills — though those things were there, quietly magnificent. What caught me, what held me, was the way this pied horse approached. Not in fear. Not in haste. Just a quiet acceptance, a slow drift forward through the knee-high grasses until we were almost face to face.

She lowered her head to graze, close enough that I could hear the soft rip of roots being pulled from the earth. Her flanks twitched at the occasional fly. Her ears flicked in the warm light. And there, in that simple, shared moment — no fences, no halters, no words — I understood something deeper about these animals and the place they call home.

This is Greyton. And this is one of its most enduring inhabitants.

A Quiet Kind of Presence

Nestled at the foot of the Riviersonderend Mountains in South Africa’s Western Cape, Greyton is a place where the natural world still moves in quiet partnership with human rhythms. Cobblestone lanes, whitewashed cottages, and organic markets tell one story. But the horses — free-roaming, ever-present — tell another.

They are not wild in the strict sense. Nor are they truly tame. They live between categories — like the town itself, which walks a line between the charm of yesteryear and the pressures of the present. They graze on commons, wander through streets, appear unexpectedly outside cafés and farm gates, often alone, often in pairs. Their rhythms echo the land: slow, enduring, quietly grounded.

In this particular image, captured in the late afternoon light, a single pied mare stands almost within reach. The moment feels intimate, but it’s not rare. In Greyton, this is what often surprises visitors: how close the horses will come. They don’t demand attention. But they accept it, if offered gently.

There’s something humbling about that.

New Perspectives on an Old Debate?

Odd bits have been written about the so-called feral horses of Greyton. Some locals welcome them as part of the village’s identity — living artefacts of a slower, more grounded life. Others see them as a problem: unregulated, overbred, occasionally mistreated, sometimes dangerous.

And yet, what’s rarely discussed is the way these horses have shaped the town’s emotional landscape.

Ask longtime residents and many will say: “The horses have always been here.” That isn’t quite true, but it feels true — because for decades, they’ve moved through daily life like ghosts of a pastoral past, unowned but not unnoticed. Children grow up recognising them. Walkers pause to let them cross. Artists sketch them. Photographers — like me — wait patiently for just the right frame.

But that affection sits alongside real challenges. Numbers have risen. Welfare concerns persist. Efforts to manage or protect them — from gelding campaigns to feeding initiatives — are often led by volunteers, and results are mixed. Not all owners, where they exist, are equipped to care for their horses properly. And when ownership is disputed, or non-existent, responsibility becomes a town-wide grey area.

Still, for all the complexity, there remains a profound connection between Greyton and its horses.

Seeing Them Anew

To photograph a horse is not the same as understanding one. And yet, through the lens, something shifts. Especially when the horse is close. Especially when the land is quiet.

This pied mare — perhaps four or five years old, by my guess — grazed for nearly twenty minutes within arm’s reach. Her back was scarred slightly from an old injury. Her hooves were weathered but strong. She looked healthy. She was aware of me, but not wary. It was a moment of mutual tolerance, maybe even respect.

And in that closeness, I realised: these horses live with people, but not for them. They navigate pavements and pastures with equal ease. They are independent, but not aloof. They survive, despite drought, traffic, disinterest. They are symbols, yes — but also individuals. Living lives that unfold just beneath the surface of our own.

Towards Coexistence

Greyton’s horses force us to ask: how do we share space, really? How do we allow room for a bit of wilderness, even in our villages? How do we recognise that not everything beautiful can be tamed — or should be?

The answer, I believe, lies in continued conversation, in open eyes and open hearts. Yes, regulation is needed. Yes, cruelty must be addressed. But there’s something rare about a place where you can walk the edge of a town and meet a horse not behind a fence, but grazing freely, nose to the earth, hooves in the dust of a shared road.

That, too, is Greyton.

Not perfect. Not simple. But quietly extraordinary.

The Horses of Greyton: An Evolving Heritage

The horses of Greyton trace their lineage to domesticated animals once used for farming and cart transport in the early 20th century. As agricultural life declined and motor vehicles became more common, some horses were released or abandoned. With few natural predators and ample grazing land, the horses formed small, feral populations that have grown steadily over time.

Today, some are loosely associated with local families or informal owners, but many roam independently. Welfare organisations and concerned citizens have taken on much of the responsibility for their care, offering food, veterinary support, and advocacy. Their presence is both celebrated and contested — but undeniably embedded in the town’s evolving identity.

In many ways, they have become Greyton’s living emblem: creatures of resilience, beauty, contradiction — and connection.

Greyton Stories

Nestled in the foothills of the Riviersonderend Mountains in the Western Cape, Greyton is a village that whispers tales of time, nature, and community. Founded in 1854 and home to just over 2,000 residents, it remains one of South Africa’s most beautifully preserved rural gems. Here, history lingers in the oak-lined avenues, artful porches, and timeworn pathways. These images are moments drawn from quiet mornings, dusty roads, grazing horses, and garden gates left ajar — fragments of a place where the past and present coexist in stillness. Greyton doesn’t shout its beauty; it reveals it, slowly, to those willing to look.

Sony Ai, SIGMA DG DN Art 24-70mm, FL: 24mm, S:1/800, F:5.0, ISO:125