Across the years I still see you
and thrill to the sound of hoofbeats
beating a tattoo on the forest floor;
half wild, running free.
You frighten and exhilerate me;
a primitive deity,
mane and tail flying like flags.
Yes, I see you still
when I visit the glade
where we ran together and stood listening,
intent,
atuned to the secret life of the woodlands.
And I remember how you shone
scarlet in the sun
and how the light,
filtered by trees,
dappled and played across your back;
the rich warm scent of horse and hay
filling the barn on a frosty morning.
How I laughed when you danced
about the pond to celebrate the dawn of a new day!
You did not know I saw you
at two or three in the morning,
moving between patches of moonlight and shadow,
keeping watch over me throughout the long night.
I never owned you,
But you owned me.
In all seasons,
In all the years there have been,
And will be,
When the rhythm of hoofbeats,
Stirs the blood,
I will see you running across,
The hills and plains and vast reaches.
Of my mind.

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THE GIFT