bucky

i never much took to horses. wasn't around them. i feel all gangly and awkward around them.

but today as we were visitng the towering draft horse, another soul across the way was there and i turned to him and he looked at me. i'm partial to dark bays but my girl says this horse is part norweigan fjord and standard breed (whatever the hell that means). about fourteen hands high my girl estimates, and i'm inclined to believe her.

(short for a horse,

she says), but the size means something to me, so it was nice to see in living color.

bucky by name, a malt colored horse with (i'm making up colors here folks), with a two tone mane, black under and blonde on top. fascinating coloration, his tail was mixed too, split top and bottom like that.

so, i look at bucky for a while. i'm not inclined to go petting strange horses. but he practically had his head in the breezeway, so i reached out to touch him. he did not move, seemed to receive my touch, so i petted him and scratched his muzzle a bit (is that the right word?) and lowered his head a bit so i could scratch between his eyes. i imagine a horse doesn't get scratched there much without someone doing it.

he likes you,

my girl said.

so i stayed with him a while and looked into his eyes, spoke softly to him until i had to go. i visited him before i left for the day.

curious, i have never known a horse intimately. (that sounds horrible, i know, forgive me. but keep it clean folks.)

and now, looking into the eyes of these beautiful creatures i understand so much how a man can call a horse his best friend and let her carry him away when all other troubles press in.

i understand so much more now than i did this morning.

my sister asked me,

what was your best moment today.

and while i did have a conversation with a dear friend and her husband, a three hour long, no awkward silence, interesting actually thought provoking conversation (i hate chit chat), where among the topics we discussed my potentially doing a poetry reading at her mom's place (she hosts poets, most recently kurtis lamkin, what are the odds?) in rhode island.

the horse, stranger to me, though i had not the power to free him, i did have the power to be present to him today.

and that is what it is all about.