Mares and Colts and Green Green Grass
Bringing the mares home is another one of those things that's slipped a bit this year: we're nearly three weeks late bring the mares and their foals over from their winter pasture, and what would have been easy three weeks ago, with four wobbly-legged babies, is going to be a lot bigger project this spring. Fourteen foals now at Bog Hot, and we're still in hell-or-high-water mode here at the home ranch. Thunderstorms every other day, and green green grass in the fields. But this is how it was last year.
Bog Hot Meadow
April 10
Silence cocoons the morning
Stretches the horizon
Snow on ridges
Blue with distance
Coiling ribbon of dust
Across the valley:
An invisible traveler
Trundling to town.
The ticking of grass growing
Marks the ripening day.
Finally
A ripple in the wavering distance
A russet ribbon of motion
slips in and out of view
As though parting the silent universe between earth and sky.
Shimmer resolves to form
Horses
Moving fast across the curve of earth
Parsing the soundless space
Between sage and greasewood.
Their flashing legs
Dance an invisible trail
Up the desert.