Saturday, February 5, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Running on Fog
I went to see Twilight one night. Snow had been falling sporadically for a couple days and had settled over everything like a comfortable, clean layer of skin.
It was cold and pogonip had collapsed onto the fields. Everything was eerily peaceful, I felt like I could drive forever and just disappear into the fog let it seep over any tracks I'd left behind.
There was no trace of the barn, the fog had cloaked it completely, only a dim orange light burned through, faintly like a light house many miles away instead of a few yards.
The snow had a crust of ice over its back, which made a satisfying crunching noise every time I stepped on it like the sound of teeth breaking through a thick crust of bread.
I went out to Twilight's pasture and took a deep breath of bitter fog. I imagine if disease was a single tangible thing instead a multitude of cancerous cells, bacteria, viruses or hormone deficiencies it would be fog breathed into the lungs oppressive and chilled.
I let out the warm air reluctantly and cluck (a noise I make by squeezing air between my tongue and teeth) a way of telling Twilight to come in so that I don't have to scramble through the snow to find her.
Twilight has selective hearing. If there is alfalfa to be enjoyed, or spring time weeds to engulf she is deaf to my clucking and begging. If the day has been long and mundane and I appear with a bowl of golden tasteful oats she is on high alert and quick to respond to my call.
Tonight my clucking goes unanswered by the familiar plodding hoof steps. I doubt Twilight can hear me in a fog this thick, I can only about five feet into the large pasture, and I wonder as I open the gate how I will ever find her in this maze?
Actually it is worse than maze, the fog does not hold a shape, it moves and shifts so nothing is recognizable. So I walk blindly stopping every now and again to cluck.
The fog may be heavy and slow, but it is also mischievous and playful. It thickens into shadowy shapes resembling horse to the far corners of my vision which quickly gallop back into the lighter clouds disperse when I turn to look at them.
Finally I find a group of horses, solid colors of dark brown, chestnut, and white patched paints, definitely not the doppelganger phantom creatures.
A familiar white striped face looks up at me with a general air of curiosity and surprise.
What are you doing here in this weather? I was not expecting you. You could of at least given me the courtesy of clucking to let me know you were coming.
" I tried, the fog is so thick you probably could not hear me."
She flickers her ears back and forth. So what are you waiting for?
I leaned against her side and feel her weight shift beneath me, suddenly tired. What am I waiting for?
I have found my horse against the odds, but now I simply do not wish to move, to just slouch against the warm body of dark silky fur.
After some time I move, slip the halter around her face and walk back towards the gate. Twilight tip toes behind me, gently testing the layer of snow before each step.
I did not have time to ride, so I released Twilight into the smaller square arena. So that she could race around for a bit.
But she was tentative. Lifting her large hooves above the snow in the same manner as a cat who lifts its paws to avoid puddles of water.
I flicked her lead rope forward encouraging her to try more than a few careful steps.
She stretched her legs out into a long effortless trot, managing to somehow defy gravity and keep her hooves above the snow as much as possible. Shocking dark velvet legs suspended over the thick frosting of icy snow on the ground. She circled effortlessly around the arena time and time again at the same dainty fast pace. And finally her tail lifted into a dark banner of long black cords twisting behind her as she stretched into the canter and then the gallop.
Her neck had been curved like that of a swan watching the blurring snow beneath her, debating it safety. I wonder if she thought of the snow in the same way I thought of the fog, a figment, not truly there, just waiting like those specter horses to disappear when she took her eyes away.
But now she had attained some sort of understanding of it solidness, even though the crust cracked and gave under her hooves. She could still feel the sandy grains of cold crystal beneath and knew she could trust it.
Now she tossed her head into the air, eyes challenging me and never breaking contact. Deep dark eyes that seemed almost like a creature of fey instead of a horse.
This is fantastic! Can you see me running? See the power in the way I move? This must be what it is like to run on a cloud, except maybe then I could go on forever instead of in circles.
It was cold and pogonip had collapsed onto the fields. Everything was eerily peaceful, I felt like I could drive forever and just disappear into the fog let it seep over any tracks I'd left behind.
There was no trace of the barn, the fog had cloaked it completely, only a dim orange light burned through, faintly like a light house many miles away instead of a few yards.
The snow had a crust of ice over its back, which made a satisfying crunching noise every time I stepped on it like the sound of teeth breaking through a thick crust of bread.
I went out to Twilight's pasture and took a deep breath of bitter fog. I imagine if disease was a single tangible thing instead a multitude of cancerous cells, bacteria, viruses or hormone deficiencies it would be fog breathed into the lungs oppressive and chilled.
I let out the warm air reluctantly and cluck (a noise I make by squeezing air between my tongue and teeth) a way of telling Twilight to come in so that I don't have to scramble through the snow to find her.
Twilight has selective hearing. If there is alfalfa to be enjoyed, or spring time weeds to engulf she is deaf to my clucking and begging. If the day has been long and mundane and I appear with a bowl of golden tasteful oats she is on high alert and quick to respond to my call.
Tonight my clucking goes unanswered by the familiar plodding hoof steps. I doubt Twilight can hear me in a fog this thick, I can only about five feet into the large pasture, and I wonder as I open the gate how I will ever find her in this maze?
Actually it is worse than maze, the fog does not hold a shape, it moves and shifts so nothing is recognizable. So I walk blindly stopping every now and again to cluck.
The fog may be heavy and slow, but it is also mischievous and playful. It thickens into shadowy shapes resembling horse to the far corners of my vision which quickly gallop back into the lighter clouds disperse when I turn to look at them.
Finally I find a group of horses, solid colors of dark brown, chestnut, and white patched paints, definitely not the doppelganger phantom creatures.
A familiar white striped face looks up at me with a general air of curiosity and surprise.
What are you doing here in this weather? I was not expecting you. You could of at least given me the courtesy of clucking to let me know you were coming.
" I tried, the fog is so thick you probably could not hear me."
She flickers her ears back and forth. So what are you waiting for?
I leaned against her side and feel her weight shift beneath me, suddenly tired. What am I waiting for?
I have found my horse against the odds, but now I simply do not wish to move, to just slouch against the warm body of dark silky fur.
After some time I move, slip the halter around her face and walk back towards the gate. Twilight tip toes behind me, gently testing the layer of snow before each step.
I did not have time to ride, so I released Twilight into the smaller square arena. So that she could race around for a bit.
But she was tentative. Lifting her large hooves above the snow in the same manner as a cat who lifts its paws to avoid puddles of water.
I flicked her lead rope forward encouraging her to try more than a few careful steps.
She stretched her legs out into a long effortless trot, managing to somehow defy gravity and keep her hooves above the snow as much as possible. Shocking dark velvet legs suspended over the thick frosting of icy snow on the ground. She circled effortlessly around the arena time and time again at the same dainty fast pace. And finally her tail lifted into a dark banner of long black cords twisting behind her as she stretched into the canter and then the gallop.
Her neck had been curved like that of a swan watching the blurring snow beneath her, debating it safety. I wonder if she thought of the snow in the same way I thought of the fog, a figment, not truly there, just waiting like those specter horses to disappear when she took her eyes away.
But now she had attained some sort of understanding of it solidness, even though the crust cracked and gave under her hooves. She could still feel the sandy grains of cold crystal beneath and knew she could trust it.
Now she tossed her head into the air, eyes challenging me and never breaking contact. Deep dark eyes that seemed almost like a creature of fey instead of a horse.
This is fantastic! Can you see me running? See the power in the way I move? This must be what it is like to run on a cloud, except maybe then I could go on forever instead of in circles.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Stopping by Horses on a Snowy Evening
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by: Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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