Photo & Poem: Sentient

 

Long in the tooth, people say. Gray hairs
dusting his temple, this gelding plays the
part of good uncle, passers-by tickle his
nose to show their familiarity, unaware of

of the memory that kind of touch brings this
stoic gelding who remembers too far back,
too sad a time. Past his prime, people say.
No, he carries his guarded history with him,

each era of his life in each swing of his leg,
power and pride, to distract from a slightly
frayed nerve, small sparks in a wet wound, his
secrets his own to hold behind a discreet eye.

Offering himself, even now, as is. For you.

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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Anna Blake

26 thoughts on “Photo & Poem: Sentient”

  1. Beautiful, in a mash on your heart sort of way. I worked in geriatrics most of my career, with the most frail of elders, many of whom had lost or suppressed their ability to communicate in the usual way. These wonderful words make me think of them, too, and how much they quietly tolerated from well meaning people. I think you called it “passive violence” recently?

    Thank you for the opportunity to pause and consider.
    Much love to you.

  2. Their histories may be unknown but for those that can see inside, it’s no great mystery.
    Most folks have no idea that the real burden so many of these “beasts of burden” bear is the suitcase of scars put on them by humans who don’t bother to consider with their hearts that which they don’t understand with their mind.
    Again, the failings of man reflected in the eyes of those who have no voice.

    • This gelding is owned and loved. Misunderstood by others, but not his owner. (And for the record, this boy talked my ear off for the whole week.) I think that we are all as is (works in progress) as horses are. (but I hear you about abuse victims.) Thanks, Sueann

  3. Wow! Just wow!
    I know this gelding, this mare, this stallion.
    Your voice does give one to those who cannot speak, but who do in so many ways. And not always quietly.
    Again, thank you. For putting your insight to words that move me to tears.

  4. You hit it again. OMG. Thank you. OK to share with my volunteers? With attribution, of course.

    One of the programs we are trying to implement is for early Alzheimer’s folks and their caregivers. The program is spreading in Northern California and is called The Connected Horse.

  5. Touch my soul at a dawn of pink fluffy clouds. Wonderful old warrior horse with just the saddest resignation in his eyes. What a great head he has! Makes your followers think of human geriatrics, which reminds me of Snowy Golby, an old Snowy River horseman; I rode two of his youngsters, best ever, the sort that hurts when you have to hand them back. Later, dementure, in a nursing home. Popped my head in the door. He’s in distress. “Lost my horses, can’t find my camp, haven’t had a feed in three days.” Couldn’t fix the horses and camp issue of course, but robbed the office fridge of someone’s plate of sandwiches, made tea, and saved his life.

    Thank you for your insight. Louise.

  6. Makes me glad I had my boy from birth to death, 26 years. He never had a day when he didn’t know he was loved.

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