Walking past the mare, I let my hand follow the shape
of her body, her hair so short it has no texture in the
height of summer. My fingers slip under her mane first,
and remembering the full moon on night she was born,
watching with the rest of the herd as her dam gave a
deep nicker encouraging the foal to push up on her feet.
Tall now, following the crest of her neck to her withers,
wide atop her broad chest. Under saddle at four, that first
trot together, feeling her back lift me in each stride. Oh, to
be carried by this mare. Tracing the arc of her barrel, those
hard days losing herd members, both of us facing down
change. A pause, my hand comes to rest at her croup, our
hips close. Hold this moment, feel the earth beneath our feet,
inhale the still afternoon air. A sharp snort, the mare shakes
her head sending a wave down her spine to my hand. Looking
over my shoulder to glimpse her looking over her shoulder.
…
Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward
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Thanks, Sharon
Somehow melancholy.
These are the good old days in real time. Thanks, Sueann
“Looking over my shoulder to glimpse her looking over her shoulder.” Loving that last line, and all the lines before it as well. As SA Spinks writes above, this is melancholy, sweetly so. . Opens up my heart, and you know what happens when my heart opens… tears ! In a good kind of way.
These horses of ours are our life. Nothing less. Thanks, Sarah, and joy/melancholy along the way.
Tears and a small knowing smile on my lips.
I’ve fallen in love with her all over again this summer. Thanks Kim.
I envy your ability to put in to words what the heart feels.
Thanks, Nancy.
I especially love this xxx
Thanks Kirsty. Me, too.