windstir

close my eyes search my mind
seen as if floating
on great clouds of red dust
they stretch their magnificent muscles
defining movement
great manes flying with their own wind stir
the ground vibrates
with the music of their hooves
the staccato rhythm of the herd
the tall hills applaud their return
the long grasses sway
a dance of joyful celebration
the horse whisperer kneels
in thanks
for to own is to be owned
a whisperer without a herd
ceases to exist

All materials Copyright © 2004-2008 by Eryll Oellermann