Tag Archives: Horses

All the Bright Things

16 Thursday Apr 2020

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The sun wakes through a morning window,

stretches itself over the horizon, smiles,

says, it will be a good day,

for horses to lay down and dream,

and I walk into its warmth,

almost able to hope, almost.

The sun persists to midday,

wakes the mountain, still white with snow,

and transforms its peak into a picture,

and if I could paint–

but I will, instead, think it,

in memory of last summer’s huckleberries,

picked there, there, half way up–

the sun smiles again

imagining the sweet boughs,

dark blue berries.

That’s what hope is, it says,

all the things you can see,

like memory,

made bright again.

This Pendant World

06 Monday Apr 2020

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2.

Today, I trusted you,

straddled your wide,

bare back,

sweet mare,

doe-eyed, and healthy.

We breathed together

what good there is

of this April day,

and offered thanks

to a world,

mostly untouched:

the mountain, still there,

the grass, still starting to green,

the birds, still returning,

singing their songs

into the dark hours

of the night.

For Cowboy, Heart of my Heart

06 Monday May 2019

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The horse that restored my strength, Cowboy. 2003-end of our reign.

If waif means thrown away,
we were waifs—
he, an orphan,
me, afraid of the world;
yet together, we were a magical beast,
fleet of feet, pounding ground
with a rumbling beat,
breath joined,
as in lore,
we were centaur,
& maker of the stars,
& shiny things,
creator of our kingdom,
our safe place to run,
abreast of sand, loose rock,
and sun smiling down on it all–
a coronation of soul,
of spirit,
and what will remain,
from that first day,
to the end of our reign.

Hog Lake Falls

01 Wednesday May 2019

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The ground sounds hollow,

an echoing cadence of hoofbeats

follows among ponderosa, & a caw-caw

of wood raven, forest spies tattling

on our prattling happy chatter,

while hawks circle the pool

at the base of hog lake falls,

& balsamroot whispers

about the perfection of it all.

You, Me, and the Spokane River

02 Tuesday Apr 2019

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We rode dirt and mud,

through standing water,

like ponds, to verify

the sun, and life

of returning things:

Canada Geese, wood ravens,

mule deer, grazing at dusk,

and the river, surging

with the spring run off

of our souls, singing.

A Horsewoman’s Prayer

27 Wednesday Mar 2019

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Each season,
I say a prayer,
not for safety,
because want of safety
is always there,
but for Wisdom;
Wisdom to listen,
and hear
my horses speak
the magic language
of their needs;
Patience, to wait
upon the softness
of their hearts opening to me,
which is the exact part
that starts the journey of try,
without which, there’s nothing.
I pray for Courage,
when they, in communion,
ask me to fly with them,
either on the ground
at their side
or, on their backs,
where I can grip tightly
to Trust,
and Heaven,
and what it means
to be fully alive.

A Goodbye to the Crippling Desk

19 Wednesday Dec 2018

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The crippling desk, for six years,

granite topped, and bright

with the computer’s glare,

the tapping of keys,

the winding path of a mouse,

the click, click, clicking,

a sickening tick-tock of life.

Today, I say goodbye,

trade you in for a beautiful chaos,

throw myself to the world,

the raven, the falcon who tried to enter

through the upstairs window,

the horses and wolfhounds,

with their joyful lope and pounding

of the ground, the music, the words,

the gray, but wide-open sky.

The Breathing

09 Tuesday Oct 2018

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There is a fine line,

so skinny, so fragile;

what is,

on the other side,

breathing hard.

A horse can hear,

a deer can hear it,

but we do not,

and we live, mostly,

without fear.

Recently, the paths diverged:

what should have been,

but wasn’t,

what was,

but shouldn’t have been,

and I wonder

if those two ways,

continue in different spheres.

I  hear their breathing,

each year, stronger,

and something, like love,

pulling me there.

What is time,

but a rotation under the sun,

a perception of what has been,

a perception of moving

toward what is to come.

 

 

 

Somewhere Between This Soft Day

18 Tuesday Sep 2018

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Warm September wind, sunshine,

manure drying itself in round piles

you can kick, and dissolve into dust.

The sweet smell of it, the same

as it smelled thirty-three years ago,

at Harold Johnson’s place.

I breathe in memories like air,

close my eyes and see them all

alive again, laughing, telling jokes

about how they want to come back,

when they die, as a young girl’s horse.

Everything is the same.

Everything is completely different.

Yet, more and more, I’m somewhere

between this soft day,

and memories of this soft day

some place else.

The Place Between Us

17 Tuesday Apr 2018

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      I crossed

That field, weeks before the first pass of the blade,

     Through grass and briars, fog–the night itself

to my thighs, my skirt pulled up that high.

(Claudia Emerson, excerpt from Aftermath)

Today, I stood in the south pasture and looked back at the house,

as if it was another life I was seeing from the outside:

the gables, the stone facade, the windows, the aspen.

The palomino came to me there, and seemed of two worlds.

She crossed over the basalt outcroppings,

her hooves crushing the baby grass and buttercups,

like a bold spirit that moved between life and death

and made me wonder, for a moment, which I inhabited,

or what was real, the house, the horse, the wind, my body–

the words I searched for, to say how much I miss you.

Loping a Horse For the First Time

14 Saturday Apr 2018

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To straddle that fundamental duality is to be balanced: to have one foot firmly planted in order and security, and the other in chaos…” Jordan Peterson, 12 Rules For Life

At first,

They may try to buck,

But give them the reins

And sit deep in the saddle.

Like everything in life,

No guarantees,

We’re all on the bottom peg,

Really,

When it comes to living,

Or dying,

Or even breaking a leg.

Loping a green horse

Isn’t much different

Than falling in love,

Or growing old.

We like to feel alive,

Sometimes,

We like to fly

On the back of a horse

Learning to run,

With chaos on her back.

Unity: Horse and Human Together

05 Thursday Apr 2018

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“Try to figure out some way to understand this thing the horse is so full of, and that he has such a strong desire to get from the person in return. It has to be togetherness. Mind, Body and Spirit is what we’re talking about here.” Tom Dorrance, True Unity

Our shared emotion,

Seventeen of twenty-seven:

Happiness, worry, fear.

What is it, rising up

Like spirit, from your eyes,

Like heaven. An open field,

Where all that matters is love

And connection, knowing

We are safe from what chases,

Knowing we are strong,

mistakes forgotten, and free.

Riding Through a Grove of Aspens

24 Saturday Mar 2018

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The sweeping of our horses’ manes

Showed us the wind, and which way it blew,

But it was the aspens that gave it voice.

Swirling leaves,

Like erratic wings of butterflies,

Shimmered, shook, slapped,

Simultaneously clapping as we passed.

Grace in the grove, the ticking,

whispering clatter of the breeze,

Passing, back and forth, between worlds.

Synchronicity: The Herd

02 Tuesday May 2017

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20170419_211840We must move together,
One mind, one soul,
One body, one purpose,
Says the herd.

We’ll bend our necks
To the ground,
Bite off blades of grass,
Like so: the Mustang,
The palomino mare,
The old sorrel gelding.
See how our heads line up?
Front, right legs forward,
One ear to the herd,
The other to the sky,

And bird sound:
The high pitch
Of the kildeer,
nesting in grass nearby,
The chattering of the geese,
The barn swallows,
returned to their nests,
Above our stalls.

We hear their song,
A composition,
Carried by the wind,
Through pine,
Through aspen,
Through crocus
And snowdrops.

We must move together,
One mind, one soul,
One body, one purpose,
Says the herd.

Beautiful Mustang

21 Thursday Jan 2016

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Beautiful Mustang

Beaty’s Butte, Oregon 2007

Some things survive
Despite capture,
Despite fear.
Like memory,

How it felt
To take those first
Feeble, free steps,
Then stretch your neck
Toward breasts,
And the reward
Of warm milk.

The world was starving,
But some things survived,
Like the smell of sage
When your bodies
Lay down at night
And crushed the stems.
You dreamt of flight,
On strong legs;
You dreamt of rest,
Under the mahogany’s shade.

Some things survived,
Like the smell
Of your dam’s fur in rain,
The smell of her sweat.

The sound of her separation
survived, too,
The calling back and forth
From pen to pen,
Your first real lesson
On what it’s like
To be loved.

That way.

In the way
Of the terrible missing.

Some things survive,
Despite capture,
Despite fear.
Like memory.

beautiful watching may 09

 

Connection

17 Thursday Dec 2015

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Sit deep, deep in the saddle,

Your ankle, hip, and shoulder

A line, that dissects some star

And continues past,

“Where does space end,”

The question your teacher asked

In the fifth grade.

Which is to say, it never ends,

And I can’t help thinking,

I don’t either,

Nor does this horse,

Engulfed in her own heat,

Evaporating into the cold air

Of another December.

What is it about two souls

That makes the one feel alive,

Connected, two dots, through which

A line extends forever,

Pierces a fabric, so thin,

We were together all along,

Though we didn’t know.

 

 

 

Meditation On Touching a Horse

22 Friday May 2015

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You can feel the warm blood

Under his summer coat,

Sun-slick and shiney,

Sweat, that smells of grass,

Which is to say, sweet,

His breathing, his gut-sounds.

Take a moment and trace,

With the palm of your open hand,

From the softness of his muzzle

To the enclave between ears,

Then down along his thick neck,

Under the chestnut of his mane.

Keep sliding your hand along his withers,

To his broad back and belly,

His hips, buttocks, tail.

Take the trust and the quiet

Into your heart

And unfold it over and over

Throughout your day.

Think, grace.

Think, gratitude.

Think, peace.

Hope.