Silent with Wonder

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In the tenderness of morning, the fog

wraps the horses in promise and paints

the yellow blanket soft.  The horses

speak their quiet, feel their Spring,

dance their velvet noses in flowered field.

Silent are the pines, watching

through dew drop eyes, hanging

their needled peace in the foggy morning.

Early morning hoof prints mark time,

yellow daybreak, flowery fog of pineful watch,

and I am silent with wonder.

The Spotted Pony

The spotted pony bears out

winter with thickened coat and rugged

resolve by the edges of the worn field

where the bitter wind blows less harsh.

His grayish hooves solidly clap frozen

ground as he grazes on what’s left of autumn’s

golden grass.  Midday sun streams through breaks

in the pines, blessing his shaggy, rugged body.

He stops to rest in winter’s calm, so few

are those days.  When storms pass

through, spotted pony waits them out with tail

turned toward the wind and head hung low.

Pine branches reach down, giant

arms of protection. Like the hill

and the rocks and the pines, he belongs

to this place.  The spotted pony bears out winter.Imagep