Rusty

Rusty

It was always a pleasure seeing the world
between his expressively curved ears
displaying a steadiness, an inquisitiveness,
a thankfulness for leaving the arena,
the endless circling around.

A curved path excited him,
the rustle of leaves, even the squirrels
seemed to delight.  He didn't mind
venturing out alone with me.  I'd sing,
he'd clip clop along non-judgmental.

He was half Arabian -
could go for hours without tiring.
I'd get lost daydreaming -
he'd take advantage; snag a leaf or two.

We'd often arrive home just before dark.
Bathed in barn light,
I'd scratch the whorl beneath his forelock,
lean into his neck as he tucked into his grain,
fresh straw fluffy beneath our feet.

by Margaret Bednar, October 26, 2017


This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Artistic Interpretations".   The moment I saw this painting it made me think of my horseback rides on my childhood horse, Rusty.  Even now I recall his eagerness and excitement to see what was around the bend - He was a good horse - He was never barn sour nor did he mind going out alone with no other horses; many horses are spooky and can't be trusted.   My favorite time to ride is in the fall when the forest starts to open up and rays of light hit the trails and one can see through the trees a bit - makes it less scary for a horse too.

Woodland Melody

My daughter & Oberon

Woodland Melody

Cardinal reds, rose, and wine -
apricot oranges, coral, and peach -
amber yellows, canary, and ash
freckle our mountainside
and frolic upon woodland's pond.

Summer has melted into fall,
squirrels sound like bears,
and leaves spiral down -
their swan song about our shoulders
and beneath our feet

all in rhythm, or so it seems,
to my pony's four beat gait.

by Margaret Bednar, October 22, 2017

My daughter and Oberon

The colors are starting to change but in these photos it still looks really green.  I'll have to drive around this week and capture the reds, yellows, and oranges - they really are changing fast and falling off the trees quickly as we've had some heavy rains.

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Weekend Mini Challenge - Micro Poetry"  - I didn't see the final line beneath the image "binding with briars" was to be our frame of reference -from the final line of the poem, The Garden of Love, by William Blake... Sorry!  



My daughter and I currently drive an hour to the barn - that is a two hour round trip and we go out no less than three times a week - usually five.  A barn just 15 or so minutes away is now under new management and I am so excited as we checked it out and we will be moving there within a week.  We will have a fantastic indoor arena, a nice big outdoor, and mountain trails.  To be able to see Oberon every day will be wonderful!

Longing

Can be purchased on Etsy HERE

Longing

I envy you your tears,
your breaking heart
as he slips away

for it means you have loved
and been loved -

where I feel a bit lost
as what I've sought
will never be.

Wake up at night
knowing part of me
is broken.

Thank God it's small enough
to tuck away out of sight

most of the time.

by Margaret Bednar, October 12, 2017

linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toad's - Music with Marian".   The video is very sad - and this may not address it exactly but I think the sense of loneliness and heartbreak is true to the song...

I've been absent a few weeks - busy with being a mom and juggling kids - which is fantastic - not complaining there - but my Father has taken a turn for the worse - his stroke has affected more than just his speech - and it seems like time has run out for many things...   I'm not looking for sympathy - I've come to terms with feelings a long time ago - just sad as things could have been so much different.  Thank God my girls have a father that has helped form them into talented, confident, and kind young women.

In a quilting class today a woman shared her struggle as caretaker of her aging father - he's slipping and she fears he will die soon.  She was very tearful and I actually found myself a bit envious as I really don't have any tears - just a sense of loss of what could have been...

I seldom write poetry about this subject as I fear hurting my mother's feelings if she were to ever find her way here - which she won't - she doesn't log on to any computer ever (she's 90) - I feel guilty - like I'm betraying ... something.