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".
I love the sense of story and adventure in this poem - and the magic of flying horses
ReplyDeleteAhhh, really nice, Margaret. This feels just so serene.
ReplyDelete~ the energy in these lines, is visceral ~~ and beautiful.
ReplyDeleteOh, I love this. I wish I had learned to ride a horse. It sounds like an amazing experience.
ReplyDeleteI can really feel how much you love to be riding... very nice.
ReplyDeleteI love the format of this poem and how it looks on the page. And you made me feel the winglift of riding. Beautiful.
ReplyDelete