Each winter until, finally, barely spring, the black angus cows returned to graze the fields we rented to our neighbor, to drift through our high mountain meadows past glory holes and the half-buried barbed wire a homesteader nailed a hundred years ago to the trees. All month, I have missed them, though perhaps in the springs past that we’ve had of days and days of solitary jays and the tiny mouse skulls that I pocket to hold tenderly in my hand and show you, this day is still only the day before the day of their coming, the day before they will once again wander up ancient paths, their hooves chipping at the old cow pies that our dogs, ash now, rolled in. This spring, I think, far into mid- summer, I will wish for them, for their calves sleeping midday in old winter grass, tucked so quietly in as if they were a dark blossoming before the evening’s dream: the earth returning everything to us now, perhaps musky and heavy with its clustered yarrow and its blue harebells of grief, but here.
Many thanks to Joan Digby, editor-publisher of New Feral Press, who created a beautiful card combining my poem, Memories of Horses, with a historic photo of a 15,000 to 17, 000 year-old Paleolithic horse drawing from the Lascaux Cave in France. Joan and artist Stanley Barkan are producing a box of Artists’ cards with horse poems and illustrations. (Thanks, Joseph Hutchison, former Colorado Poet Laureate, for forwarding Joan’s call for submissions.)Continue reading “Cards, Photos, and Paintings: the Happy Collisions of Prose, Poetry, and the Visual Image”