The horse that stands in the field

Resembles the toad stool in my dream

And smells of hay and Listerine

But I am not repulsed by the

Odor of cleanliness.

 

I see within the horse to his

Heart and Soul and he is

Blessed with kindliness and

I am not—I have to work at it.

 

He chews the grass that I lie upon

And I look up into his nostrils

And yawn in the sunlight.

He ignores me, and grazes on.

 

The startled Blue-Jay leaps into

The air and flies in circles ever wider

Until it reaches the tree limb

Where he hides behind branches

Of green leaves and whispers

His fears to his mate.

 

They take their time telling

Horror stories of close calls

With Humans and I

Peacefully watch them from

My bed in the grass.

 

Butterflies do not inhale

The smoke of factories nor do

They practice falsehood.

It is remarkable to me to think

That all they do is fly from

Thing to thing and wait to die.

 

But butterfly shadows are not intrusive.

My shadow is equal to my light

And I have made friends with it

Despite my misgivings.

I am better off now.

 

©2008 by Diane E. Dockum

Just Beyond The Hill