TO LACK COLOUR

sitting astride your rain-soaked back heavy steps in muddy tracks the dampened sky cloaks a shining sun first walk, then trot, now run

Matisse and Zina.

Photocredit: @woodsiegirl

The herd! ft. our new guy Matisse (the lanky palomino in the back right)

I call this triptych, “Oops! sorry mom, I forgot to switch it off of manual focus”

The horses are dream-things at dusk. They are still and yet restless under the low, thick canopy of monsoon clouds, standing close to one another and communicating in subtleties. Push and pull. The light-coloured horses seem almost to be aglow with the last ghostly vestiges of light left over by a sun gone to sleep, while the dark-coloured ones turn to shadows in plain sight, near invisible except in the gleam of their eyes and the sound of their swishing tails and soft footfalls. Horses are dream-things at dusk. 

Quick dip in the creek before dinner..

Dusk in the round pen.

He was a sun standing on that hill. A small inferno. His light gold coat reflected every ounce of the bright afternoon light escaping the grasp of the overcast sky in sporadic fits of celebration. We could see the whole world from the top of that hill and I thought for a moment that if a child in the valley below were to turn their eyes to our hilltop they would exclaim, “Look! The sun has fallen through the clouds and is standing on the mountain!”

Osiris: king of selfies.

I have so many pictures of this horse’s ears. It’s obscene. 

Hi, from me and my 1,000 bunny rabbit. 

(Like the Dawn // The Oh Hello’s)

Golden boy.

Magic light on a magic horse.

“No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.”  

~Winston Churchill