It’s good to walk in the country,
peaceful, full of familiar smells,
listening to the sound of shoes on
tarmac,
the birds singing in the air,
crunching of grass beneath cows’
feet.
the occasional sound of mooing,
sheep bleating,
horses neighing.
When in the country you’re never completely
alone,
one creature or another watching,
occasionally they communicate,
snuffling or an exasperated sighing.
He was there at the low point where the gate
cuts into the hedge,
standing big, brown nearly black in places,
flecks of grey in his mane and
round the muzzle,
deep brown/black liquid eyes, all-knowing
watched as I approached,
no way you could go past and ignore
such a magnificent creature,
he’d seen life go by innumerable
times.
Takes a bit of courage to walk up
to such a beast,
he must have stood 16 hands,
commanding respect,
something that big deserves respect,
he wanted to talk to me in his own
way,
I raised a hand and gently stroked his nose,
he was happy, it was fine, he
snuffled his permission,
perhaps he’d sensed a common soul
as I’d walked head down,
enjoying the air,
the nature.
What sort of life had he had?
I didn’t know how old he was,
perhaps retired from farm work,
maybe he’d been some kind of show
hoss,
he was in good condition, coat shining like a
new suit,
somebody obviously cared.
I knew I’d walk this way again,
next time there would be polos,
they love polo mints,
even with large teeth and huge lips
they manage to scoop a polo mint from an open
palm,
they eat very politely, keeping lips
together,
you can hear them crunching solidly.
We communed for almost half an hour
then he took his leave,
I had provided a service but now he
was done,
a toss of his magnificent head,
he trotted away.
Was it something I said?
I think he knew I would return.
© David L Atkinson April
2024