His swayed back so warm in the late
afternoon but he doesn’t lie down. His
shoulders bear his weight without rest.
When predators come, he can’t be helpless
to run, not that his buckled knees could
carry him far. He ambles in for his dinner
alfalfa, belly soft, and while the other
horses tuck in for the night, he shuffles
quickly back out, the gate left open for his
escape, a cooling breeze lifts the scent of
sage crushed as he drags his hooves, his
limp is much worse in the cold. The gelding
pauses, stretching his neck low, sampling the
dandelions and marsh grass. Turning his neck
to gaze through the fence, over the pond to
a watery stillness and the sunset in his eye.
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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