The fog buttered the fields this morning,
hung spider webs like chandeliers
and dew lightly licked the grass.
Celeste stands,
ears, nose, hooves
pricking the blind sky.
her mane is damp and in her eyes
and her breath hot, grassy smoke reeds in the air,
Her coat, rather than roan is brown
from rolling (there's a grass stain on her nose on her left)
and she tosses her head, paws the ground,
jumping up and down
for breakfast.
Softly she nickers, deep with trembling nostrils,
and throws her front legs up, mane flowing dark and wild
as I approach, set the bowl down
and she takes as huge a bite as her lips can take,
settles into the slow chew (takes her time)
and watches us with perked ears as we prepare the second course.
Birdsong plays softly above and around,
the steady Volvo engine grumbling and whirring,
the car invisible but two red lights and two yellow lights
and the sun peaks through, a lighthouse for the day.
(13th March 2014)
YOU ARE READING
Blue Moon
Puisi"Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes." - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (2012 - 2014)
