Yes, I ride her. But I keep my wits about me.
The fourth stanza of a horse poem from Hoofprints. The accompanying picture captures the spirit of spring in Vermont--muddy and explosive. Spring is here but the grass isn't greening up yet, and we all have a bit of cabin fever.
This rider stays on
--that's all--
eight seconds.
Legs fly loose,
spurs scratch fore and aft,
and then at last the whistle blows.
Let go!
This rider stays on
--that's all--
eight seconds.
Legs fly loose,
spurs scratch fore and aft,
and then at last the whistle blows.
Let go!