Soaring
It's the breeze brushing my cheeks
that carries the silken milkweed,
pods finally bursting,
escaping
above wind-tickled grasses
and cattails welcoming us
along pond's edge
trusting
my black stockinged buckskin
will join the spirit of the moment,
tail and mane flowing,
searching
galloping beneath me: my wings,
releasing me for a moment;
a ribbon unwound,
fluttering
absorbing autumn's tranquility,
understanding the stubborn oaks
who refuse to release their colors
celebrating
another season; holding fast
to the lightness I felt as a child
upon my soaring Pegasus.
by Margaret Bednar, October 16, 2019
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Music with Marian - Prairie in the Sky".
6 comments:
I love the sense of story and adventure in this poem - and the magic of flying horses
Ahhh, really nice, Margaret. This feels just so serene.
~ the energy in these lines, is visceral ~~ and beautiful.
Oh, I love this. I wish I had learned to ride a horse. It sounds like an amazing experience.
I can really feel how much you love to be riding... very nice.
I love the format of this poem and how it looks on the page. And you made me feel the winglift of riding. Beautiful.
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