There is a storm gale in her eyes
and the stillness of her mane
waiting to gust the field
in leaf-red motion. Her back
carries the weight of my mind —
seated light, set to inhale
the morning chase. She seeks
that strain of abandon I love — a brisk wind
enflamed by trees, stories lurking
in the breath of mist or shadow, a spirit
out-growing her skittish ways.
The beautiful painting is called “The Chestnut Trot” by artist, Gary Cooley.