Photo & Poem: Second Cup

Second cup of coffee while waiting for light, a second cup while waiting to head out. The horses have thick coats and long hair on their legs. They will still have hay from the late feed, they need nothing. This is their time. Wait. Let them have the night. Boots over heavy socks, the last … Read more

Photo & Poem: Rich

  Our family farm was leased from the man who owned the car dealership in town. Once or twice a year, he came up our driveway in the latest model, looking important wearing pressed trousers and a tie, to drink black coffee with my father. They talked about crop prices on the farm report and … Read more

Photo & Poem: Waiting for the Vet

  No days like the golden photos on the calendar from the gas company, propane topped off at the first frost as autumn surrendered with no fanfare. Early storms left crusted snow frozen in mud, hoof-print ruts that catch the toe of my boot, stumbling out late to throw extra hay and put eyes on … Read more

Photo and Poem: No Other

  You are wise to not let me see, stoic one. Show not your age, certainly not a weakness. Be brown or tan, earth tones that don’t draw attention, blend with the herd camouflaged on the land. Turning your head to reveal a shock of lightning, a white star centered above wary eyes, a swirl … Read more

Do Horses Fear Death?

  It’s been an ordinary year. Animals died here. What could be more normal? Infinity Farm has an extended herd and none of us are youngsters anymore. Over the months, we said goodbye to a boney old Tabby Cat, an ancient foster horse, a young neurologic donkey foster, and a beautiful mare. Aren’t all mares … Read more

Photo & Poem: Goodnight

  Leaning on the gate. Checking water tanks at dusk, one last glance at the herd before heading in. I feel his eyes soft on me, from the far side of the pen, his muzzle deep in hay. Awestruck, my involuntary response to his beauty. Under my breath, I barely murmur the tall gray’s name … Read more

Photo and Poem: What If?

  There is a crisp apple coolness to the air. Soon there will be frost, I tell the horses, soon the flies will be gone. The northern air makes the herd buck and snort steam, but might as well be blood on the wind for elders bearing heavy mortality, unable to catch the air, joints … Read more

Photo & Poem: When the Sunset is Through With Me

  The sunset plays me. In the heat of the day, colors are flattened by glare and searchlight bluntness, work taken on, tasks finished. But when the sunset looks at me sideways, flirting through the clouds, changing expression in each instant, I come stumbling out on the porch, fumbling with my glasses, my camera, knowing … Read more

Photo & Poem: Dry Thunder

  The draft horses galloped out of the barn and down the fence line, stood on their hind legs, pawing the air with teeth bared, then threw their heads down, stretched low to nip at each other’s hooves as the thunder whispered to a boom. Flashing violence, the clouds blew the sky a greenish purple, … Read more

Photo & Poem: Home Farm

Skeletal power poles from the wind turbines out east litter the view of the mountains, splintering the sunset. New construction treads closer, tract homes and fast food. This farm was never announced by miles of white vinyl fencing, just a mailbox at the end of the driveway. There are mismatched fence panels, some white, some … Read more