Sunset glares through a slit in the clouds,
cool air descends with a childhood memory
of horses in Willcox…
They know things.
We stared at each other over a millennium.
They know wind, rain, and trouble.
They helped me to many
places that were kindred to my nature,
escaping the oppressing forces,
to wander in the dreams of silent places
where kindness flourished.
There are no maps for any of that.
It’s windy on the borderland
and rain approaches.
I opened a lovely Malbec to sip slowly
and relax while the storm treked across
a darkly veiled sky.
Wine is poured and its fragrance
mingles with the aroma of rain
that falls from dreams and memories.
The horses know.
We all know.
Rain will soon come.
From: Getting There
Unpub. MS p.2
Horses know that trough water gulped, is sometimes better than Malbec sipped, particularly if the rain turns out to be virga.
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