She stands in a silent field, a whiskey coat with a blaze
on her nose, hooves pawing the soft wet ground. Beyond her
the hills teem with many legged things that rustle
under last Autumn’s leaves and dodge dew drops big enough
to carry them away. An early June sun
is peeking over the tops of maples, the sky is melon and teal.
Camp robbers are readying for thievery
while chickadees practice their whistled song. A forgotten cabin
leans towards the creek as if nodding, and little red spiders
jump over the crevices in the floor boards. Ancient wood, grey and jagged
with splinters, proffers a haven for cobwebs and entangled moths. Flies
on the windowsills. Flickers peeking in, curious, then pounding
out their mating call of Spring. All life has awakened. The mare
is ready to gallop again and leave her footprints on the lengthening grass.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019