Storm
Snow streaking across a frosted pane,
Wildly swirling through the fields
As I grab my cap and gloves.
The door slams open, then shut.
Knee-deep snow hinders me--
Tromping, heavily stomping towards the barn.
The shutters rattle in the wind.
Inside, a door clanks.
Six feet within the doorway
The snow stops, melting into dust.
Jogging to the back of the barn,
I shudder at the cold.
The sliding door blows out
Nearly off the tracks.
The two geldings barrel in,
But he's not there,
Not waiting
Eager to be let in,
Inside to his feed.
I peer into the white haze
When panic finds my throat.
Of all the horses. . .
I yell and whistle;
The wind blows my attempts
Behind me.
Afraid, I wander off
Into the now vast 40 acres.
The steel door's helpless
Without me.
I slide and slip down the hill
Towards the shelter of the trees
Heavy with snow and needles.
Far away, I hear him,
And I whistle again.
A feathery black shadow
Bursts from beneath the trees.
His mane and nostrils caked with ice,
His breath, steamy clouds
Against the storm. . .
Relief.
For the Fresian I still dream of having.
Drop a comment about which breed of horse you have always dreamt of owning.
YOU ARE READING
For The Love Of Horses, A Book of Poems by Renee Moomey
PoetryThese poems were written out of the love for horses, for every horse I have ever been in contact with or dreamt existed. Raised in a barn, my very being is entwined with the equines, but life has had a way of pulling me away from them, be that fami...
