Final Frontier

Having the time to thoughtfully consider the things which have made me happy or sad and to understand why, has been one of the greatest gifts of this trip.  One of the things I have learned is that in the end, the now 23 year old Blackjack, gave me the most pure joy and as a consequence broke my heart the most.  Ours was the most synchronistic relationship I have ever experienced, granted when it came to lessons we were rarely on the same page(!), but when we were alone on the hill I didn’t ride that horse, we just happened, we were one entity that accelerated, slowed, jumped and changed course through thought alone.  The saddest thing is that I didn’t know that his legs were going to give up, so I never knew the last time on the hill together would be our last.  It is for that reason that a poem which has entirely nothing to do with India has found its way onto this blog…

Final Frontier

GO

An eagle’s energy in invisible wings

As forged steel picks bass on English hill

whose grass conveyor to the tree topped crest

is consumed by our flight

A child’s innocence in my deep wonder

As nostrils redden in rhythm respiration

along the soft green ribbon cut by channels

cleared as we slice the wind

STOP

Ears prick in breeze breached silence

As two hearts break beats in undulant ribs

Four eyes watch Welsh Winter spring.

Still. On an English hill.

ONWARD…