Wild Horses

Big Bend National Park | Holga and Kodak TriX | Photo by author

In the glitter of the mountain morning, dew heavy enough on the ground to make a thirst content, they wandered with peaceful silence into the bowl of the meadow. Hushed hooves made no sound in the padded pine straw. A whole family, coats slick and rich as burnished mahogany, a proud patriarch and his ladies, plus youngsters. He watched us as we watched them, blinking Queen Mab out of our eyes, dream-checking. His displeasure at my approach came heavy and quick from the velvet of his muzzle.

In the shimmer of the desert afternoon, heat radiating from the scrub and brush, pulsating off the rocky ground, they rose like a mirage. A mild, friendly duet, rough weathered coats dusty with travel, they kept their heads down, busy. Until they didn’t, and raised kind knowing eyes to me, only a few feet away, acknowledging a fellow traveler, a fellow soul full of hope and breath. Later, at home, I reveled in the light of their lives, held for a time in the emulsion of creation, bonded to my memory in the luminosity of silver gelatin magic.


Another offering from the prose poems I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo last month. Thank you for reading!

Published by amyjasek

Film photographer, mother, positively passionate about life in general, Texan : )

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