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 … Read more
She declared that she loved her horse as if loving took a sort of noble skill rare to our kind. As if loving a horse was a defiant act that few achieve. Excused from the menial tasks of picking hooves and tending wounds, she claimed an instant of shared breath as the proof of her … Read more
Driving home from the feed store on a back road, easing my foot from the gas pedal, the three-quarter-ton truck coasts slower. Ahead, a teenage girl in shorts and a helmet riding a horse. The tomboy-girl twisted around but dismissed me, only a gray-haired woman in a farm truck. Would she want someone better … Read more
One horse flicks his ear, still grazing, another pauses his jaw, his tail still amid flies. The mare lifts her head, intelligent brow above wide nostrils, while the elder gelding keeps his neck low, courting smells wafting on the breeze. A small movement in the distance, awareness passes through the herd, their breath in shallower … Read more
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
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
The rhythm of hooves over even soft ground, we’ve lost time out together, rocked safe in the saddle like breeze through the oaks toward a bottom-heavy sun. Lulled by the sway of his stride, we’ve wandered too far, dirt-worn and words gone. Just as I pause, not sure of the way, his cadence builds … Read more
One draws attention, standing by a tolerant gelding and playing the horse whisperer, tickling withers, teasing his whiskery muzzle. Passive violence in the guise of a scratch, demanding an involuntary response ripped with conflict, pulsing with agitation. One demands sweaty perfection, the mare never exactly good enough, but rewarded at last, one ringing slap, … Read more
stoic
gloaming
Let him.
…as much as we wish.
…as much as we wish.