My Horse and I

My Horse and I

At our appointed time

the weathered barn door

slides with greased ease,

as sunlight plays chase to unfolding shadows

illuminating her majesty of grace and presence.

Like a princess tending to her knight,

She bows her head in acknowledgement

and gently huffs in anticipation of a Sunday morning ride.

She accommodates my patience

with a serving civility,

of nurturing trust

for a dependable companion.

I loosely hold the reins,

as she makes the familiar run

down the worn hill path,

through the swaying grass of breezed meadows,

to the old willow draped in a spring-green umbrella

of rustling tentacles over the lily laden pond.

She pulls up, as I dismount,

both of us

earmarked to take-in this seasoned sight.

The beauty and solitude

is never lost on us,

and in our own way

we attempt to grasp the purpose of such revealed existence.

A quieted slumber of blissful reverie

is jarringly stirred

by her huffed urging

of a late afternoon sun

waving to an evening dusk in the offing.

We head back on familiar route,

when I pull her reins toward a distant hill,

barren except for the timeless-old oak tree

furrowing against a blazon sky.

Reaching the crest,

she pauses, acknowledging,

the soft shoveled earth of my burdened cross,

buried, unyielding memories.

In appreciation,

In gratitude of circumstance,

my horse leads me, comfortingly,

homeward bound.

-Mark Trubisky