Photo & Poem: Flight

So still the herd, taking rest with
soft flank to muscled shoulder,
as the light shifts cooler. One
nose lifts to the scent of rain
coming on the breeze, the slow
boil of clouds forming dark to
thunder. Beyond the tree line, a
slow crush of fir needles, padded
footfalls and hushed birdsong.

You cannot feel the earth give
way to the cutting power of my
hooves. You cannot know me.

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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Anna Blake

16 thoughts on “Photo & Poem: Flight”

  1. Once again your voice and your understanding leave me breathless for a moment. My biggest struggle right now is to sort out my projections from what (what!?) my horses might be feeling. Then you remind me that I cannot know, and must instead just do the best I can. Though I also know that they are not likely disappointed as much as I fear they are! (We just moved from a huge green pasture to a small drylot that has many other advantages except for “huge” and “green”)

    • Huge and green is giving up so much to a horse. I hope the advantages mean more to them. My idea with this poem is that we will never know what it means to be a flight animal. Good luck with the move.Thanks, Susan.

  2. … always alert. horses … and in a different sense, you.
    you are always alert, picking up on things around you that the rest of us miss … until you translate them to words we understand.

    • I’m getting more interested in small things, the thing before the thing… Calming signals change everything, even poetry. Thanks, Sherry.


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